


The Peach Garden

by ilmatartheancient



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Boarding School, Coming of Age, Crossdressing, Developing Friendships, F/M, Hwarang, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilmatartheancient/pseuds/ilmatartheancient
Summary: Jongin, the Crown Prince of Silla, has once again run away from the Palace. He is spending the night in an inn when he meets a beautiful dancer. The morning separates them, but not before the dancer has left Jongin with one word - Hwarang.The clue leads him to the mysterious Hwarang Academy. Jongin wants to join them, even though he isn't allowed to as the Crown Prince - and his choices may  end up endangering everyone's lives.[or, a Hwarang AU feat. WayV, EXO and SHINee members and liberal use of the 'ragtag bunch of misfits' trope]
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing a Taekai Hwarang AU back in 2017, but never finished it. Last autumn, however, I picked this up again and realised that I actually loved immersing myself in the world of this story. I also got into WayV around the same time, so I decided to include them in the story.
> 
> This will be a multichapter story.

## Chapter One

The sun had set some hours ago. Jongin wove his way along the narrow wooden corridors of the Peach Garden. The cacophony of voices, laughter and chatter rang loud in the high-ceilinged space. It was hot inside: the air was thick with the smell of drink, perfume and smoke.

The Peach Garden sat unapologetically in the heart of the town. It had a reputation as a no-questions-asked type of public house; a place where frolics were indulged. One never knew whom one might bump into there. It was a house that kissed one in the evening and kicked one out onto the street in the morning. One had to be on one's guard when setting foot inside.

The _gayageum_ was playing two floors below, rivalling the loud stomping that a group of merrymakers was making as they danced a jig on the wooden stage that dominated the house. Two men in flashy robes, one in maroon and the other in dark blue, were giving their female admirers a spin. The women's shrieks reverberated off the walls. Once, the sound of the jig was broken by laughter, and when Jongin looked down, he saw the man in the maroon robe nursing his nether regions.

Jongin fought the stream of jostling bodies and wove his way past the patrons milling about on the stairs to find the perfect spot on the gantry, where he could observe the scene unhampered.

"Uh! Sorry!"

A young man, about Jongin's age, had walked straight into Jongin. The expression on his face did not seem apologetic in the slightest – in fact, Jongin thought he saw amusement there.

"Watch where you're going next time!" Jongin coughed, rubbing his ribs, but the man's back was already receding.

He had a flowing black hair and a red headband tied around his forehead. That much Jongin could see before the boy disappeared into the shadows. Jongin caught sight of another figure waiting there, donning a similar headband.

He briefly wondered who these boys were. He noted the insignia on the headband, but didn't recognise it.

Jongin had no more time to dwell on this as there were sounds coming from the stage below. A man climbed onstage and started shooing away the people resting against it. Instruments were brought up, and musicians took their positions. People's heads turned and gazes were drawn to the stage. An expectant hush fell over the scene.

The proprietress of the Peach Garden passed Jongin just then.

"A _soju_ , please," Jongin said to the middle-aged woman.

"Yes, sir."

Jongin took his place along the railing, looking down.

A young woman in lavender silk was standing in the centre of the stage, right where the floral patterns carved on the stage entwined. Her velvety hair fell along her slender back.

"Ah, it's that time of the night."

Jongin turned his head. A man next to him was lounging against the railing and sipping what smelled like rice wine. He looked a few years older than Jongin, and had a serious but pleasant and handsome face. His robes imparted to Jongin a sense of nobility and refinement, but Jongin didn't recall him from the crowd of scholar-officials working in the Palace.

The proprietress arrived with Jongin's drink then.

"Thank you. What time do you mean?" Jongin asked the man next to him.

"The dance, of course."

Somebody in the audience below whistled at the young woman, and Jongin felt a pang of indignation on her behalf – but the woman herself stood there, silent, immobile and unaffected, until the musicians began to play.

With the cascade of drums, she came to life. She moved to the rhythm of the drums, the hem of her skirt and large sleeves billowing around her as though she'd been caught in a whirlwind.

It wasn't the usual dance Jongin would see in the Peach Garden – much of that was for titillation rather than art, but this young woman was clearly an exception. Watching her, Jongin felt the heartrending ache that one sometimes felt when one saw something too beautiful for words.

She tilted her head back for just a second, her closed eyes fluttering open, and a heady rush of adrenaline shot through Jongin as their eyes met. Time seemed to slow down. But then she straightened up again, the moment passed, and she went on dancing.

A little breathlessly, Jongin asked the man beside to him, "Who is she?"

A smile tugged at the corners of the man's mouth.

"The dancer? She calls herself Moonlight."

"How do you know her name?" said Jongin eagerly, sipping his _soju_.

"Let us just say that I have seen her around."

Still that smile played on the stranger's face. Jongin wasn't sure if he liked it, even if it wasn't malicious – rather, it made Jongin feel like he was the butt of the joke here.

"You mean you come here often?"

"As a principle, I don't like these houses. All this drink and rowdiness... it's not for me."

"And yet you come?" Jongin asked politely.

The man shrugged conspiratorially. "Let's just say that sometimes it's my duty to make sure things don't get too rowdy."

"So you're with the police?" Jongin asked.

The man laughed, baffled by Jongin's directness. Sometimes Jongin forgot the way people spoke to one another outside the Palace.

"Not exactly, no."

"Well, tell me your name at least," Jongin pressed.

The man studied Jongin's face for a moment, as if to see whether he could be trusted. "It's Junmyeon. What is yours?"

Jongin got no chance to answer, as there was a sharp pat on his arm then.

"Pay up, sir."

The proprietress had returned, gesticulating impatiently.

"Oh. Right."

Jongin felt for his purse, which he had hid against his chest. He slid his hand inside his robes. It wasn't there. Could he had pocketed it? He rummaged in his pockets while the proprietress tapped his foot.

_It couldn't be..._

"I... I can't find my purse!" Jongin burst out.

"What do you mean you can't?" the proprietress snapped. "Keep looking!"

Jongin did, his pulse speeding up. He was certain he had had it around his neck, inside his robes, but his hands always came back empty; neither was it in his pockets; no, all he had there was lint and bric-a-brac.

And then it struck him...

"That son of a... He nicked it!"

"Who?" asked Junmyeon.

"That boy, that... Urgh!" He groaned in frustration.

"You mean you haven't got any money?" the proprietress asked.

"No, I... I mean... I did..."

"Guards!" the proprietress called out over the noise.

"I'll pay for it," Junmyeon interpolated. "How much is it?"

"Oh no, you don't have to..." Jongin protested, but the man ignored him, and money exchanged hands. The proprietress left them alone.

"Thank you," Jongin muttered abashedly just as the room burst into applause and cheers.

The dancer had finished her performance. Jongin peered quickly over the railing, his heart racing. She was in a heap of lavender in the centre of the stage, the flower pattern coiled around her. The patrons were throwing money at her feet.

She unwound from her coil, took a bow, and left the stage. But before she disappeared through the backdoor, she glanced up, catching Jongin's eye. The entire Peach Garden seemed to hold its breath; like a transfixed animal, Jongin was trapped within her stare.

"I, err..." Jongin stammered, "It was nice meeting you, Kim Junmyeon _-ssi_ , but I think I had better go now."

He could tell Junmyeon was trying hard not to break character.

"Very well. Perhaps we'll meet again," he said.

"Yeah, perhaps," Jongin replied with a polite smile.

"But what about your purse? You have no money. Will you be all right?" asked Junmyeon.

"Me?" said Jongin. "Oh, um, yes. I suppose I'll have to be."

He felt Junmyeon's stare on his back as he edged past the jostling patrons who, now that the dance performance was over, had gone back to talking and drinking.

The night outside was fresh and calm. A few lone wanderers trudged past the Peach Garden, unsteady on their feet. A group of young men had gathered outside, playfighting, shoving and slapping each other in a brotherly gesture. Some of them followed Jongin with their gazes, and Jongin cringed.

There was a part of Jongin that really longed for company, as intimidating as it looked. But he was used to finding himself in a crowded room, feeling alone. Still, even that was preferable to being at home; he had to make the most of these nights; there was no knowing when his mother would find out about his late night adventures – and then there would be hell to pay.

The two lanterns hanging off the eaves and the light glowing through the windows of the public house were the only lights piercing the night. The darkness swallowed everything outside this sphere of light. An imperfect golden moon hung low in the sky. Soon it would be the full moon of the fourth month.

Jongin rounded the corner to where he assumed the back door would be, passing an entwined couple in the shadows. A peal of laughter ringing behind him, he arrived at the backdoor, but there was nobody there – only a dog going through the pungent pile of waste.

Jongin inched to the door and tried to open it. It was unlocked, and Jongin peered inside. The noise from the public house rang muffled through the walls. A few lanterns were lit here and there amongst barrels and bags of rice, but this was definitely just a storage, not a dressing room. She wasn't here.

Jongin heaved a sigh. He was fast coming to his senses. There were plenty of pretty girls around; what of this one dancer? It was time for him to go home anyway. One more night to hope that the guards hadn't discovered his exit route.

"Looking for me?"

Jongin almost jumped out of his skin. His hand dropped to his waist, to the hilt of his knife...

She emerged from the shadows, wrapped in a dark overcoat. She assessed him with her head tilted curiously.

"I, uh... I... well," Jongin stammered, mortified at being discovered.

She was even more beautiful up close, with a full mouth and heart-shaped face and glimmering eyes. She was taller, too, taller than Jongin had estimated. But it was not her height that made Jongin shrink; oh no – it was her manner, the way she stared unabashedly at him. Her eyes were kind, yes, but intensely curious.

"And what is it that you want from me?" she asked, edging just a little closer. Her voice was soft and low.

The moonlight seeping in through the open door caught her, and Jongin's heart quickened.

"Moonlight – is that your name?" Jongin, his mouth dry. Funny that she should bear that name and that he should see her bathing in the silvery shade of the moon.

"Is that all you want? My name?" she said.

Jongin dared not speak his mind. He had not expected her to be so bold – it caught him off-guard, sent him reeling... It was easier for him to want and take than to want and be given.

A slow smile spread on the girl's face.

"You can call me that – for now."

"You mean it's not your real name?" said Jongin.

"Why would you jump to that conclusion?"

Jongin blushed, much to the girl's amusement.

"And what do you need my name for, anyway?"

"I, well... I would like to see you again," Jongin admitted. "Where do you live?"

"Nowhere you can follow me. Unless..." The smirk that had played on her face was replaced with curiosity. She was clearly measuring Jongin up.

When she spoke again, her tone was serious. "I have one word for you – _Hwarang_."

" _Hwarang_?" Jongin repeated dumbly. Then he cleared his throat and said, out of old habit more than actual desire this time, "Are you perhaps alone tonight? Have you a place to go?"

The girl laughed and stuck her chin up challengingly.

"Come and find me first."

She tugged her overcoat around herself more tightly and vanished into the shadows as abruptly as she had appeared from them.

Jongin stood there for some time, staring at the spot where she had stood, as if waiting for her to reappear.

With a fluttery sensation in his belly Jongin gave himself a shake, found his bearings and finally took his leave, through the deserted streets, out of the town, and into the Donggung Palace.


	2. Chapter Two

The chirping of birds in the eaves tore Jongin out of his sleep; he awoke with his heart racing, feeling cheated by his body because of his dream – it had seemed so lucid and real. Upon opening his eyes, he saw his bedchamber bathing in morning light. The morning bell had not rung just yet; his attendant had yet to come.

Stretching his languid limbs, Jongin recalled his dream, already so distant and hazy. He remembered the sound of drums; the flicker of lavender. There had been a girl, and she had danced. How much of it had really happened last night? Jongin tasted alcohol in his mouth – he had been out in town last night, definitely.

And then he remembered. It was the dancer girl.

Jongin's belly gave a flip. She had mentioned something, something about a place where Jongin could find her... Something about flowers.

_Hwarang_?

Yes, that was it.

Jongin had the feeling that he ought to have known what it was. He needed to ask someone; someone trustworthy, in case the Hwarang turned out to be something embarrassing. Probably not, though – everything that had _hwa_ in the name was bound to be dead boring.

And even if it turned out that the girl had tricked Jongin, so what? There were plenty of girls in the kingdom of Silla, just begging to marry Jongin and become the Princess.

That was just the problem, wasn't it?

Jongin sighed.

Just then the bell chimed outside his door, and was followed by his attendant's call.

"It is the hour of the Rabbit. Awake, Your Highness!"

Jongin let out a groan. "Yes, all right!"

He clambered out of his bed, yawning so hard that his eyes watered, and started picking up his clothes from where he had discarded them last night.

"Your Highness?" came the attendant's call through the door. This time, he sounded anxious.

"I'm already awake!" Jongin yelled back.

"No, that is not it... Your Majesty!"

Jongin's heart froze in his chest.

He whipped round to the door just as it opened. In the doorway stood his mother, the Queen of Silla, in her magnificent crimson robes.

Jongin could tell right away that this was one of her worse days. Her eyes were widened with alarm, like those of a frightened animal, and as soon as she spotted her son, she strode to Jongin and seized him by the arms, her fingers sinking into his skin like talons.

"Mother..."

"Where were you last night? I was so worried, you cannot understand..."

Jongin flushed hot, not knowing whether it was because his secret was out, or because he was so embarrassed by his mother's behaviour.

Just then, a sharp pain shot through his skull – his mother had slapped him.

"Answer me!"

"Your Majesty, please mind your temper!" cried Jongin's attendant.

Eyes watering from pain and humiliation, Jongin said, "I was just out, in the garden..."

"How dare you lie to your mother?" she spat.

"I'm sorry, mother."

The Queen fell silent, and Jongin held his breath instinctively – it was not a peaceful silence; he felt something coming, biding its time...

"Have I not told you it's not safe for you outside? You must never leave the Palace. Even within these walls, they are out to get you!"

And then, slowly, his mother's features transformed: the corners of her mouth began to droop. Her eyes closed, and she sank to her knees, holding onto Jongin's night robes for support. She turned a ghastly face up at her son and sobbed.

"How dare you... why must you hurt me? Have I not been a good mother to you, my son?"

"Please, mother..." Jongin mumbled, trying to lift her to her feet.

She was blubbering all over Jongin's night robes, and Jongin's face burned even hotter.

"Please, pull yourself together, mother. This is embarrassing."

"Promise me you'll never leave the Palace again!"

Jongin's belly churned.

"Promise me!" She gripped Jongin so hard it hurt. Tears streamed down her cheeks. " _Wangseja_!"

A group of ladies-in-waiting for the Queen barged in through the door just then, evidently alerted by her screams.

Jongin would have preferred a slap, just to be spared this familiar shame, this deluge of volatile, excessive emotion; this nonsense that he had been subjected to all his life.

"My dear boy, promise me!"

"I promise!" Jongin burst out. "Please get up, mother. People are watching."

The Queen's sobs ended, sharp as a knife. She lifted her eyes up to her son, and said in an even tone, "I am so fortunate to have you as my son, darling. My prince."

She clambered up, still holding onto Jongin's robes for support. She cupped Jongin's cheeks, and Jongin resisted the urge to recoil.

"I won't let anyone take you away from me..." she muttered. "You are safe here... And here you must stay."

"Your Majesty, perhaps it is time to go," said the attendant. "His Highness has classes to attend to soon..."

"No! He is my son, is he not? I will tell you when others can have him."

"Mother, Sogam is right," Jongin said, sensing his way out. "I may be your son, but I'm also the Crown Prince of Silla. I have duties to attend to."

The Queen studied Jongin's face for a minute, her expression ranging from suspicion to adoration.

Jongin waited with bated breath for her decision – would he agree to let him go? Or would she simply fly off the handle again, like he had seen her done so many times?

"Very well," she said finally, and Jongin could feel the collective sigh in the room. "But I want you in my chambers tonight."

"I will be there," Jongin said quickly.

His mother gave a laugh – of relief, gratitude, and desperation. The kind of desperation that only loneliness and mental imbalance could produce. Jongin took that as an opportunity to prise her hands off his face.

Two ladies-in-waiting came and grabbed her by the elbows.

"Come, Your Majesty. Let His Highness go to classes."

They walked her to the door, but her eyes wouldn't leave Jongin until Sogam had shut the door after her.

All that was left in the room was a ringing silence. Jongin tried to catch his breath, steady his racing heart. The chief lady-in-waiting stayed behind to clean up, not saying a word and pretending as though nothing had happened – even though they both knew as the Queen's closest people that her delusions were getting worse.

If only Jongin had somebody to talk to. Someone unbiased; someone who actually cared, someone who would not use that knowledge for his own gain the second Jongin's back was turned.

But there was no such thing in the Palace; Jongin was alone, just as he had always been.

"What is wrong with my mother?" he asked. "Why is she like this?"

The lady-in-waiting looked older and wearier when she answered, "Nothing. Nothing is wrong with Her Majesty."

"I don't believe you," snapped Jongin. "Has she been eating well?"

The lady-in-waiting frowned.

"Nevermind how I know," said Jongin. "Tell me. That's an order!"

The woman flinched slightly at Jongin's raised voice, but regained her composure quickly. "No. Her Majesty has begun to reject her meals again."

That was one of the manifestations that the Queen's delusions – or perhaps illness – took. Jongin had all through his life seen her order dozens of dishes to be brought out to her, only for her to reject them one after the other. It would go on for hours, and Jongin would watch longingly as each dish was brought in and taken out, feeling hungrier by the hour. He had lost count how many times he had lashed out at his mother, begging her to let him eat. Sometimes it would work, as if her maternal love was stronger than the spirits in her head. There were times when all would be well, and the Queen would eat heartily with her son – but then her delusions would come back.

Jongin knew she was afraid of being poisoned – and to anyone who had studied history as much as Jongin had been forced to, it was not such a ludicrous belief – but more evil had been caused by the Queen's tears than any attempted poisoning. Her servants and ladies-in-waiting had been in mortal terror ever since she had forced a lady-in-waiting to taste her tea, with Jongin bearing witness. He had watched the lady-in-waiting choke and splutter as the Queen had held onto her nose and poured the liquid down her throat.

Jongin had been made to watch as other ladies-in-waiting had tried to put an end to it. The Queen had put on an inhuman fight, as though the ghosts in her head had endowed her with superhuman strength. The servant girl had been left retching, her _jeogori_ stained with brown tea and her saliva. It was a sight Jongin had been unable to forget and an act he would never forgive his mother.

And now this sickness had reared its ugly head again. Jongin was tired; tired of his life, tired of his mother's madness, tired of princedom. And before he was tired, he was angry.

Jongin's thoughts turned to the girl at the Peach Garden, with a stab of yearning in his heart. How he longed to talk to the girl again, to go where she went. Jongin had a name – Hwarang. All he would need to do now was to figure out what it meant.

As he left for his classes, he realised that the wheels of his mind were turning; a frivolous and dangerous plan had begun to form in his brain.

He was to have a martial arts lesson first thing in the morning with Commander Park – or Teacher Park, as Jongin called him.

"You are late, Your Highness."

"I had my reasons," Jongin mumbled back as he entered the court. Teacher Park fixed him a piercing stare.

"That is not an excuse, Your Highness. Get your practice sword. We will warm up."

Jongin did as he was told, and they began to spar lightly.

Teacher Park was a large, imposing man, who could have knocked Jongin out at any time if he had wanted. Jongin had been afraid of him when he had first started teaching Jongin, and it still wasn't easy being Teacher Park's student, but on good days, Jongin kind of appreciated it. He liked these classes the most, especially now that they were rarer, as insisted by Jongin's mother. Moreover, Teacher Park was probably the closest Jongin had to a confidante in the Palace.

Jongin broached the subject as they finished their class, sweaty and panting.

" _Seonsaengnim_?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Have you heard of something called Hwarang?"

Teacher Park paused mid-movement and surveyed Jongin, who blushed, grateful that his face was already red from exertion.

But that meant that Teacher Park knew; there was something that he knew, and was not supposed to divulge...

"The Hwarang, Your Highness? What relevance does it have to our training?"

"This? Nothing," Jongin said. "I was just wondering if you could tell me..."

"It means _the flower youth_..."

"I could deduce that much myself, _seonsaengnim_ ," said Jongin, trying to keep the vexation from his voice.

Teacher Park's lip curled in amusement. He was quiet for a minute.

"The Hwarang was a group of talented youngsters, boys and girls alike, gathered by the officials in the court of His Majesty the King Jinheung during the era of Great Relief. They were trained in ethics, song and dance, and, last but not least, in martial arts. The Hwarang was intended to serve in the military, but also cultivate skills needed in education and governing of the kingdom."

"Why have I not heard of them before?" said Jongin.

His teacher's expression darkened. He seemed to be thinking carefully as to what to say next.

"If you have not heard of them, Your Highness, it may be for a very good reason," he said forbiddingly. "The Queen would not appreciate me telling you..."

"You talk of them in the past," remarked Jongin.

Shadow passed over Teacher Park's face.

"Because they are. At least, whatever is left of them is not what it used to be before our time. After a tragedy struck."

Jongin sat still, his heart thumping in his throat.

"Two court women were appointed as the patrons of two groups of Hwarang – but envy grew between them and one murdered the other."

"I've heard of that!" Jongin interjected. "But I didn't know they had something to do with the Hwarang."

"Not only that, but most of the Hwarang were sons of _jingol_ and _yukdupum_ blood; sons of high-ranking court and government officials. These officials endeavored to use the Hwarang to gain power and rise in ranks, as well as to undermine the Hwarang for petty reasons, like personal grudges. As you can imagine, Your Highness, bloodshed followed – and misery and worry to our Majesties."

"Nobody ever told me about them," Jongin said grudgingly.

"Why should they have done? You are the Crown Prince. Your duties lie elsewhere. In study, for instance," the teacher said emphatically.

"But what use is it for me to become the King if nobody tells me anything?" Jongin snapped.

A steely expression came over Teacher Park's face.

"The King's part is to be alone. There are people who would kill to be in your position. Do you think it's easy to be the King? Pleasant?"

"No, but..."

"So there you have it."

_But nobody asked me if I wanted this_ , Jongin had been about to add.

"And I suggest that Your Highness does not attempt to sneak out of the Palace to find the Hwarang, as is your wont."

Jongin was startled. So, Teacher Park knew about his nightly wanderings as well.

"Do you think it's right for you to hurt Her Majesty like that? You know how lonely and sick Her Majesty has been since His Majesty's passing."

Jongin winced at the mention of his mother. Teacher Park rarely discussed her with Jongin. He felt an ache somewhere in his chest – an ache of terrible longing. It was a relief when the class finally ended.

By that time, the spring sun was already high up in the sky, and its heat seeped through Jongin's robes, onto his skin. The midday bell chimed, and Jongin headed for lunch in his quarters. A soft breeze of wind carried with it the smell of wet soil from the vast pond in the Palace grounds. The few neatly trimmed trees on the courts were filled with birdsong. Flowerbeds were blooming, and with a tingling in his belly, Jongin found himself wondering what that dancer girl would have smelled like.

He came to a halt and looked past the Palace walls, at the mountains in the distance, the puffy white clouds gliding over his home, and felt an odd tug of longing in his chest. Not so odd anymore, though – his contentment had been clouded for some time now; a few years at least. Jongin saw now that he had been trying to dispel the cloud by partying, drinking and seducing girls, but none of it had really worked. He was fed up with this cosseted existence. He wished so dearly that he could be somewhere else – anywhere else; that he could be anyone else than he was.

Jongin was tired of his mother's madness, and he was tired of being pushed around. What was the point of being the Crown Prince when you were treated like a child? He would have been so much happier without this burdensome title.

As he made his way to his quarters past flowerbeds, he couldn't help but wonder how much sweeter all this would have tasted if he had had somebody to share it with. What if he could find the dancer girl again? Find her and make her his consort? The conversation with Teacher Park had not been all in vain: he knew now that Hwarang was – had been – a military academy. Was the girl, Moonlight, a dancer there? Whatever the Hwarang was, real or not, at least they had more freedom than Jongin, seeing as Moonlight had been allowed outside at night.

Would she be at the Peach Garden tonight as well?

Jongin's belly gave a flip at the thought. But then he remembered that even if she was, he wouldn't be able to see her – for he would have to go to the Queen's Quarters tonight to keep company to his ailing mother. It was so unfair.

Jongin had arrived in his bedchamber. Being within these same four walls, it suddenly hit him. He grabbed the small jade figurine from a stand and threw it at the wall. It was followed by the porcelain ink holder that shattered into hundreds of pieces. Jongin pushed over his desk, screaming and shouting.

"Your Highness!"

The door burst open. His attendant, Sogam, stared at the scene in horror as Jongin seized the next object, about to hurl it at the wall too.

"Please stop it, Your Highness!"

Jongin clutched the jar in his hand, wanting to let go but not quite managing it. Before he knew it, Sogam had run up to him and prised it from his grip.

"I... I need to be alone for a minute," Jongin said, fighting back the violent sobs bubbling in his throat.

Without waiting for Sogam's answer (which would most likely have been forbidding), Jongin marched right out of his chamber. He did not want to see anyone that day, and he never wanted anyone in the Palace to see his face again.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got chapters three and four ready to go, so I'll probably post the next chapter this weekend as well.
> 
> I've also started an instagram to chronicle my writing process. You can find me @ilmatartheancient. Come and say hi!

Jongin made some hasty preparations that night. He didn’t have much time; his mother would expect him at sundown. Because he had no clue as to the whereabouts of the Hwarang and whether it even existed, Jongin figured that the place where he should start his search was the Peach Garden. That was his only lead for now.

With luck, he might even see Moonlight there. The thought was encouraging.

Holding onto it, Jongin packed a satchel and hung it around his neck. He took out the clothes he used in the outside world to pass as a son of an ordinary noble family.

Now it would only be a matter of getting past Sogam, all the servants and the guards stationed outside his quarters as well as the Palace walls. If they saw Jongin looking like this, they would immediately know he was up to something.

And so, Jongin threw his Crown Prince’s robe on top of everything else. For a minute, he stood quite still, looking at his own reflection in the lotus-shaped mirror on his desk. The self-assuredness with which he had prepared the past hour was fading fast – suddenly Jongin wasn’t so sure about his plan anymore. He had no idea when he would be back in his bedchamber, or where he would be after tonight. He had wanted freedom, yes; he had wanted to leave this cursed Palace behind, true – but now that it came down to it, he felt a flicker of fear.

Still, he stood up, drew a deep breath, and went through his plan once more.

Jongin would usually go for a stroll after his dinner. He had his dinner quite normally, and then told Sogam that he would go out.

“Shall I come with you, Your Highness?”

“No, not tonight, Sogam,” said Jongin. He heard the tremble in his voice, but hoped that Sogam didn’t.

“Very well, Your Highness,” said Sogam; although his gaze lingered on Jongin.

Jongin made his way to the garden, trying to appear as casual as possible. When he had made sure that nobody was following him, Jongin slipped into the shade of the trees. There was an overgrown path that he could follow almost all the way to the outer wall of Palace.

His footsteps were loud in the night as the leaves rustled and twigs snapped under his feet, but he had to move fast.

At last he came out of the thicket, emerging in the shade of another labyrinthine building complex, beyond which rose the outer wall. He sped up, skirting the edges of the complex.

“Who’s there?”

Jongin skidded to a halt and pressed flat against the wall. Heart racing in his throat, he stared at the dark outline of a man before him. The man had his hand on his waist, where Jongin saw no weapon but knew he was hiding a dagger. He recognised the voice and the imposing figure immediately – it was Teacher Park. Jongin had no idea why Teacher Park was still in the Palace – he ought to have left at sundown.

He stood there for a moment, listening, watching… When nothing happened, he relaxed and set off again. Jongin watched him out of sight.

Very slowly and carefully, Jongin started to edge forwards towards one of the secret passageways he used to creep out of the Palace. There was a tree growing by the wall, and if he climbed it, he could get on top of the wall and over it.

And then Jongin’s blood ran cold – a bell rang somewhere in the darkness, piercing the nightly peace. Jongin recognised the sound: it was an alarm.

He heard the voices and footsteps nearby as the guards were roused and they came out of hiding.

“What is it?”

“An alarm of some kind.”

“Everyone, back to your posts! Nobody is to leave or enter the Palace before we know what’s going on!”

Jongin’s heart was hammering madly – it was now or never. Soon the guards would come and find him. He could already hear their heavy footsteps approaching.

But he couldn’t go now, could he? He didn’t know what was happening in the Palace. What if something had happened to his mother? What then?

The footsteps were right around the corner.

“Check the gate!”

Hands and legs trembling, Jongin heaved himself up the tree and jumped on top of the wall, just in time – if it weren’t for the darkness, the guards would have seen him there.

He fell out onto the other side with a mighty thud, but the heat in his veins softened the blow. Out of breath from the fall, Jongin clambered up and ran for it, into the woods.

The night swallowed him up, and he was free.

* * *

As always, Jongin heard the Peach Garden long before he saw it – it was the music, shouts and laughter echoing in the night, meeting Jongin on the road as he was on his way to town. The public house glowed in the dark, rivalling the white moon.

He was used to feeling queasy whenever he approached the Peach Garden, but this time it was more than butterflies – this time, Jongin was on a mission.

At this time of the night, it seemed like all the people out were heading towards the Peach Garden.

“Give us a hand, will you?” groaned a drunken man leaning against the building outside.

Jongin stepped back just in time as the bleary-eyed man retched and was sick all over his feet.

There was an explosion of light, noise and smell of drink, smoke and perfume as Jongin entered the public house. He manoeuvred through the crowd, towards the wooden stage.

There was a girl on it – but even from afar, Jongin could tell that it wasn’t Moonlight. This girl was laying on her front on the edge of the stage, sweet-talking to the men in the audience and giggling loudly as the men pawed her. Jongin felt disgusted on her behalf.

For a while Jongin stood there, brushing over the crowd with his gaze and hoping to see Moonlight amongst them, but to no avail.

Whom could he ask now?

Just then, Jongin spied the proprietress’ grey head among the patrons.

“Hey! _Ajumma_!”

He started pushing his way through the crowd.

“ _Ajumma_! Have you seen a dancer girl here? The one who danced last night?” Jongin asked the woman.

The proprietress frowned, her already lined face even more furrowed.

“You think I have nothing better to do than to watch the dancers? I’m busy serving drinks to you boozers!” she barked.

“Well then, have you ever heard of something called Hwarang?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“No, please, wait!” Jongin pleaded, but the proprietress had gone.

Jongin’s heart sank. The patrons pushed and bumped into him, and he felt utterly hopeless. He realised he had made a grave mistake coming here tonight.

He turned around and was about to wade through the crowd, back to the door and back to the Palace, when he felt somebody staring at him. Amidst the revelling crowd, there stood a young man. He was quite still, and had his eyes fixed upon Jongin.

Around his head was a headband. The sight reminded Jongin of something…

On impulse, Jongin changed course and started pushing past the patrons to the young man.

Immediately, the man tensed and his eyes narrowed. He whipped around and ran for it.

“No, wait!”

But not before Jongin had seen the sign on his headband.

It was no sign at all – in fact, it was a _hanja_ : 花.

Could it be…?

It seemed like too much of a coincidence that a person like that showed up just as Jongin had mentioned Hwarang. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Jongin elbowed his way to the front door through which the young man had slipped out. Outside in the night, he looked around and saw the red-robed figure racing down the road and vanishing into the shadows. Jongin hared after him. Beyond the glow of the Peach Garden, there were few people around, and Jongin could hear the man’s laboured breathing and footsteps in the night. He followed the sound into the maze of commoners’ houses, rounding corner after corner in pursuit of this stranger, all the way to the woods growing on the other side of the dwellings. The thicket rustled as the man entered it, making it easier for Jongin to follow him in the absence of light.

At least for a while. Crashing blindly through the undergrowth, Jongin made so much noise that it made it difficult for him to track the young man. Besides, he was growing tired – he was panting hard and sweating, and tasted blood in his mouth.

Another, more sinister thought occurred to him then – what if this stranger had led him here on purpose, and was now stalking him somewhere? Just waiting for the right moment to pounce on Jongin?

Jongin stumbled on for some time before he had to admit that he had lost his quarry as well as his path.

As he went deeper, a curious apprehension came over him. The trees around him had thickened, and the silvery shade of the moon so completely filtered by the leaves that it was of little use for Jongin to find his way. The narrow path slanted downwards, and Jongin let it carry him on, but in actuality, he had no idea where he was.

And he was ashamed to admit it, but he was frightened.

The forest was alive around him, and he felt scared in a manner he had never done before. Every sense of his was stretched to breaking point – each rustle of leave could bode danger. Jongin had obviously been afraid before in his life, many a time, but he had never been truly alone – there had always been people around him in the Palace. He wanted to get out of these woods, quickly.

At first Jongin thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him – but when he stopped in his tracks, he definitely caught the sound of footsteps over dead leaves.

Several of them.

Somebody was coming.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised to post this last weekend, but I realised that some of the stuff in this chapter contradicted with things I've written in later chapters, so I had to take the time to fix it. Anyway, it's here now!
> 
> I realised that I'm somewhat inconsistent with naming. I'm using the Mandarin versions of WayV members' names, but for some reason Lucas is Yukhei, not Xuxi. There's no rhyme or reason to it, so just bear with me lol
> 
> I also wondered if I should call people gege or hyung, and I ended up using hyung, because this story takes place in Korea.
> 
> Finally, please don't take my characterisation as a sign of how much I like each person. I've written some of them to be mean and some of them to be nice etc for purely narrative purposes.

“Hey, I think I heard something.”

It was a deep voice that spoke.

Jongin’s blood ran cold – had his quarry found himself reinforcements? If it was Jongin against two, or more, he wasn’t sure if he could survive.

“I don’t like this at all! Can we go back?” whined another voice.

“Hush! You’ll get us caught!” hissed a third voice.

“I’m going back, hyungs. See you at the Academy.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere, Sicheng – what if you got lost?”

“You wouldn’t call this lost, hyung?”

“I’m coming with you, Sicheng!”

“Both of you, stay where you are!”

“Yeah, you’re not scared, are you, Guanheng?”

“Hah! Scared, me? What was that?!”

Jongin could feel the ground quaking as whoever they were made their way closer.

Heart hammering, he pressed himself flat against a tree. But as he did so, his ankle caught on something, and he felt a sharp pain. He gave a yelp, and the footsteps suddenly stopped.

“Wait – what was that?” asked a whispered voice.

Jongin gritted his teeth in an effort not to moan from agony. The darkness, which a minute ago had felt so hostile, was now his friend – Jongin now wished it was enough to keep him safe. But what if it wasn’t?

The thicket rustled as somebody made his way towards Jongin. He was trembling and desperate, trying to hold his breath so as not to be heard.

“Yukhei, wait – you mustn’t go alone.”

The man named Yukhei made no reply – and Jongin got the dreadful impression that he was very close, so close that he did not want to speak, because that would scare off their quarry – namely, Jongin.

As the group inched closer, Jongin could hear their whispered voices, but not enough to make out what they were saying and who they belonged to.

Who were these men? Bandits?

“It might have just been a hare. Come, Yukhei, let’s go.”

“Anyone got a stick?”

“What? We’re not giving you a stick. Let’s go! It’s way past sundown.”

“Yeah, please, hyung.”

“Show me some light!”

“Be careful!”

Jongin had stopped breathing. He knelt down and put his hands on top of his head, hoping to become as small as possible…

His blood ran cold as a scream rent the night air. The scream was promptly echoed by several others.

Jongin sprang up from the ground, attempting to flee, but his sprained ankle slipped on a wet tree trunk, and he found himself flat on his back, staring at the dark sky, with all air knocked out of his lungs and his head smarting from the impact – and the pitch black of the woods was illuminated by a small glowing lantern. In the beam of light he saw five faces.

The faces belonged to five young men, and they were all staring at him.

Suddenly, the tallest of the boys stepped closer to Jongin. Jongin tried to crawl away – but the young man grabbed Jongin by the lapels. Jongin acted on instinct and slapped the hands away. He regretted it immediately – for the young man’s eyes flashed dangerously. Two other boys inched forward, ready to protect their friend.

“No, wait, wait!” cried one of the friends standing back. His voice held a note of maturity and authority that even Jongin recognised, even if he didn’t know these people.

“Yukhei, get away from him!”

But the young man, Yukhei, stayed still and stared at Jongin through the pitch-black between them.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Jongin’s heart was erratic in his chest. He found it impossible to think. _Think._

“My name’s Kim Jongin,” he peeped, fear strangling his voice. He added, not knowing why, the question just bursting out of him: “And who are you?”

The young men chuckled and shared a shrewd glance amongst themselves. Jongin read a variety of emotions on their faces – most of it furtiveness and confusion.

The young man, Yukhei, asked, “What are you doing here in the forest, Kim Jongin?”

For a second Jongin hesitated, if only for the indignity with which he was being addressed – but he realised he was in no position to argue, and decided to tell the truth – he was outnumbered and in dire need of assistance.

“I got lost, all right?” he said, mimicking the speech patterns he had picked up on his nightly detours amongst the common folk.

“Yeah, you’re lost, all right,” muttered Yukhei. Then – he extended his hand.

“Yukhei, wait!”

Jongin flinched first, but then he understood – he took the boy’s hand, and the boy heaved him up. Another boy came to his aid as well, walking him back up on the skinny forest path.

“You look a right mess,” said this boy, and dusted off some debris from Jongin’s clothes. “What should we do with him?” the boy went on, turning towards the young man they seemed to treat as their leader.

The leader stayed quiet for a moment, merely scrutinising Jongin.

“We’ll help him out of the forest, first and foremost,” he said finally. “And then we’ll go straight back to the Academy – we shouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

“The Academy?” said Jongin curiously. “Which Academy?”

The leader boy seemed startled. The other boys, more timid, looked from Jongin back to the oldest boy. He chose not to reply, and instead took the lantern and said, “Come. It’s late.”

He began to lead the pack away from the woods, to where the five of them had come from – but as Jongin put some weight on his sprained ankle, he winced from pain and knew right away that there was no way he could walk back.

“Are you all right?” asked one of the boys – the same who had dusted leaves off of Jongin’s overcoat.

“Ah, no,” said Jongin, wincing from pain. “It’s my ankle. I think I’ve sprained it.”

The boy nodded comprehendingly. “Guanheng! Lend us a hand, will you?”

The boy who had been called was about to step up, but Jongin felt a strong arm grip his just then.

“No, I’ll get him. You stay with Sicheng,” said Yukhei, nodding to Guanheng and the timid, gloomy-looking boy who had been watching Jongin from the distance. “Me and Yangyang will carry him.”

Both Guanheng and Sicheng seemed relieved by Yukhei’s arrangement.

And so the six of them began their slow trek out of the woods.

How cumbersome it was – Jongin had to watch his step, which was seemingly impossible in the darkness, as the leader of their pack (whose name Jongin still didn’t know) and the lantern he carried kept flickering further and further away. Jongin would have fallen behind if it hadn’t been for the two boys holding him up. As much as Jongin didn’t like relying on these strangers, they kept him up and moving. Whenever Jongin lost his footing, both sets of arms were there to catch him.

Jongin’s eyes were so acclimatised to the dark by now that he could tell that the forest thinning before them, the glint of the lantern bobbing ahead. The ground began to slope upwards, and with one final climb, they emerged on a road in the middle of nowhere. Jongin saw mountains in the distance, behind treetops, and so he could tell that they were outside the town, several miles from Jongin’s home. He was panting heavily, if not as much as Yukhei and Yangyang, who were holding him up.

“Now what do we do, hyung?” asked the gloomy-looking boy, Sicheng.

Their leader took a hard look at Jongin. “Do you know where you are?”

Bewildered, Jongin looked around. His heart sank. “No, I don’t.”

“Can you even walk?” asked Yangyang, wiping his brow.

Jongin took a tentative step. A bolt of pain shot up his leg.

“Ah! I can’t…”

Yukhei caught him, and said sternly to their leader, “We can’t leave him here. He’ll freeze to death if we do.”

The leader looked on, his grave face half-illuminated by the lantern’s light.

“Please, let’s just go, hyung,” peeped the timid-looking boy. “I’m freezing.”

“Hyung?” said Yukhei.

“We’ll take him with us to the Academy,” answered the leader finally. “But we must hurry – we’re late.”

Jongin heaved a sigh of relief. The two boys seized him by the arms again, and they trailed down the road beneath a pale moon.

Not long after, Jongin looked up, and against the shimmering moon, he saw a dark silhouette soaring. A magnificent gate came into view behind the trees.

Jongin expected to be led through the gates but instead, as they approached it, they took a sharp left turn and followed the wall surrounding the compound.

“Keep quiet now,” whispered Yukhei in Jongin’s ear. Jongin didn’t understand, but thought it best to do as he was told.

By the wall grew a small thicket. The leader brushed the branches aside and revealed a small door in the wall. He knocked on it. They were all holding their breaths, waiting to hear an answer – but none came.

“Why isn’t Baekhyun hyung answering?” peeped the timid boy, Sicheng.

Their leader said nothing, but knocked again, a little louder – and louder still, until the knock was more like a bang in the night. Jongin briefly wondered if that was smart thing to do.

And finally there was a rattle as the door opened, with a sliver of light pooling out…

Their leader nodded back to them and entered, the others following in his wake…

Jongin had barely stepped in when he ran into Yukhei’s back – the tall young man had stopped, and his back was blocking the view.

“Quickly now!” hissed Yangyang, who was coming after Jongin, and gave him a brief shove.

“I can’t! Your friends are on my way,” snapped Jongin.

It was then that another voice spoke.

“You had all better come in. We know you’re there.”

It was an authoritative if a slightly exasperated voice.

“Shit,” muttered Yukhei, and then he was already dragged in through the gate.

“Guys?” Jongin whispered, suddenly terrified – he had no idea where he had been led to – and whatever his helpers had been doing, it wasn’t allowed evidently, and Jongin had the terrible feeling that they had been caught.

He had no time to think about it further, because a hand closed around his collar and yanked him deeper into the tunnel and then out the other end. He found himself standing on a stone courtyard that was illuminated by several rice paper lanterns – and before them stood four young men in uniforms.

Though young, they were definitely a couple of years older than the ones who had bought Jongin here, and the younglings showed deference by bowing their heads, ashamed of having been caught in the act.

“So – here you are, yet again,” said one of the men. His face was stern, but beneath it Jongin could sense a nature of kindness and concern.

Jongin’s heart skipped a beat then – he knew this young man from somewhere. It was the same man who had paid Jongin’s drink at the Peach Garden.

“Junmyeon hyung,” began the leader boy.

“Not now, Kun,” the older boy cut him short. “You do know it’s my duty to report you to the teachers – you in particular, Kun, for failing your senior’s duties.”

“I only went after them because…”

“You broke the rules nevertheless, even if your intentions were good,” said Junmyeon.

“Please, Junmyeon hyung… Let us just go back to our dormitory and be done with it,” pleaded Guanheng.

But the older boy, Junmyeon, shook his head sadly. “I did that last time, and look where that got me. You won’t learn any other way. Follow me – now!”

Some of them began to troop off, but Yukhei said, “Junmyeon hyung, wait! We’ve got company.”

Junmyeon paused and Yukhei pointed Jongin out to him.

“Wow, wait!” Yukhei cried out when the three other men drew their swords and closed in on Jongin. He was cornered – the three men had backed him up against the wall.

“Wait, wait!” protested Yukhei and stepped between Jongin and the swords.

“Who is he?” demanded Junmyeon, eyes flared with concern.

Yukhei glanced at Jongin. “He’s a friend. We stumbled upon him in the forest. He’s injured, aren’t you?”

Jongin opened his mouth to speak, but Junmyeon cut in.

“What is your name, stranger?”

“K-Kim Jongin. I’m…”

“That’s enough. We will take him to the physicians’ quarters. Yangyang, Sicheng, go and get a stretcher. Yukhei and Guanheng will carry him.”

“Why us?” protested Guanheng. “I never even wanted to go into the forest…”

He couldn’t finish as Kun slapped a hand over his mouth, whispering, “Don’t make this any worse for us, all right? I’ll carry him for you, if it means that much to you.”

Guanheng fell silent, and dropped his head in shame.

The two boys – Yangyang and Sicheng – came back bearing a stretcher, and Jongin was helped onto it. While it was a service he would have appreciated in the Palace, he suddenly felt like a burden, or a bag to be tossed around, not knowing what would happen to him.

Yukhei and the leader, Kun, grabbed the ends of the stretcher and heaved Jongin up from the ground. They crossed the lit court in Junmyeon’s wake, and entered a darker path in the maze of the compound. In the dark, Jongin glimpsed smaller and larger paths branching off in all directions, with trees, walls and gates hiding their secrets. The pale blue moon was still shining upon them. The night had reached its zenith, and Jongin was shivering.

Finally they entered another courtyard through a small gate. On the courtyard stood a house with light in its windows, and before it stood a wizened grey man.

“Bring him in,” said the man.

Junmyeon, Yukhei and Kun obeyed, and Jongin was taken into the building. He felt a brief sense of relief at the familiar-looking surroundings and being indoors in the warmth as he was laid on a silken bed on the heated floor, but that relief quickly vanished when Jongin realised that he would be left alone – Yukhei and Kun took a bow to the physician, and departed.

“Take care, Jongin,” said Yukhei, shooting Jongin an encouraging look before he and Kun trailed off after Junmyeon.

Jongin turned to the wizened man, who was examining his leg.

“A twisted ankle, nothing more. I will bandage it,” muttered the old man. He took some bandage and deftly wrapped it around Jongin’s ankle. 

“You had better inform your teachers that you will miss physical training for the next two weeks.”

“My – what?” Jongin blurted.

The old man fixed his heavy-lidded eyes on Jongin. “You didn’t hit your head as well, perchance?”

“No, I’m…”

“Thought so. Now,” the man groaned and rose to his feet. “You can sleep here tonight. No need to bother your fellow students by sneaking into the dormitory in the dead of the night. Good night.”

With that, the physician went out the door and slid it shut.

For a minute or two, Jongin lay still in his bed, listening. The footsteps had gone, and when there were no new ones, Jongin sat up and went to the door – it was not locked. Beyond it was nothing but a dark corridor. Jongin wondered briefly what he should do, but then he slid the door back closed and sat down on the edge of his bed.

He was trapped.

Granted, wherever he was, these people had treated him well, but it did not change the fact that Jongin was well and truly stuck here – he would get caught trying to sneak out; he had no clue as to his whereabouts, and there were at least seven gates between him and his freedom.

Reckless plans flew through his brain, but Jongin soon thought against them – what good would they do?

And so he lay down on his bed, closed his eyes, and tried to get some rest.


	5. Chapter Five

Jongin had a wild dream that night. He was crashing through a forest while being chased. The dream felt so real that he woke up sweating and heart pounding, and incredibly relieved to be in bed.

But the bed was strange, and so was the angle of the light filtering in. It didn’t smell like his bedchamber at home, either.

Carefully, Jongin opened his eyes, and as he did so, the memory of everything came back to him. He had been rescued from the forest by a group of boys his age, who had brought him here because he had twisted his ankle – but where exactly was he?

Just then, he heard the sound of a booming gong. It was soon followed by soft footsteps outside his door.

Jongin sat bolt upright on his bed.

“Kim Jongin?”

They knew his name. Well, of course they did, because Jongin had told them.

“Y-yes?”

“I’m glad to hear you’re awake. I’m here to bring you breakfast. Are you decent?”

Jongin had not taken off his yesterday’s clothes, but he quickly wrapped his robes more tightly around himself and combed down his long hair. “Yes!”

The rice paper door slid open, and behind it stood the kind but serious-looking young man that had arrested Jongin’s helpers last night. Junmyeon.

He was accompanied by the timid boy who had also stumbled upon Jongin in the forest. Sicheng.

Sicheng was carrying a tray, and from the expression on his face, Jongin could tell that he wasn’t doing such a lowly task willingly.

“Thank you, Sicheng. Off you go,” said Junmyeon.

Sicheng laid the tray down with a sharp but otherwise indescribable glance at Jongin, and then he left.

Without a second thought, Jongin pulled the tray to him and began to wolf down the contents. His insides were aching with hunger. The offerings were meagre by Palace standards, but not bad by any means – there were pickled vegetables, rice, and soup.

Junmyeon stepped into the room and slid the door shut. The two of them were now alone.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, sitting down opposite Jongin.

Jongin was used to being stared at while he ate, so he didn’t mind. It was only once he was finished that he found the older boy’s stare uncomfortable. He wondered if Junmyeon recognised him from the Peach Garden.

“You have soup on your chin,” Junmyeon said with a dry smile.

Jongin came back from his reverie. Sheepishly, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, ashamed of having behaved like a brute; nothing like the Crown Prince should. Then he remembered that this young man opposite him didn’t know who Jongin really was.

“How does your ankle feel?” asked Junmyeon kindly.

“Oh…” Jongin touched his bandaged ankle. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Can you walk?”

Junmyeon rose to his feet, clearly expecting Jongin to do the same. With some difficulty and Junmyeon’s help, Jongin clambered to his feet. The injured leg didn’t carry all of his weight, but he could always limp. At home, Jongin would have been carried around, or even better, people would have come to him to run their errands, but he realised he was in no position to complain – and more than that, he desperately wanted to see where he was.

“Follow me,” said Junmyeon, and slid open the door.

Jongin followed Junmyeon out onto a covered porch. He blinked in the sunlight. It was a beautiful spring morning, one of the chillier ones.

Presently, he found himself in a small wooden compound, not dissimilar to those in the Palace. Jongin knew that wherever he was, it had to be someplace important. The similarity to his home gave him some courage.

Seeing the place in broad daylight, Jongin took in the curving tile rooftops, the lush mountains soaring in the distance. Below him spread a valley of rice fields.

“This way,” said Junmyeon and led the way out of the compound.

Jongin followed, cautiously optimistic that he wouldn’t be flogged, punished or incarcerated, at least not right away. 

He began to take in the splendor of the place: to the naked eye, it was a maze of intricately carved wooden houses, much like those in Donggung Palace – what was different from Jongin’s home, however, was the imperceptible air of the place.

It was the air of youth: a frenzy of conversation, chuckles, looks and smells and sounds. Boys roughly Jongin’s age were horsing around in blue uniforms, their long hair loose, chasing each other, arms round one another’s shoulders. Some were carrying scrolls and study supplies.

Through an open door, Jongin glimpsed students taking their seats on the floor as their class was about to begin. Although never one for education, Jongin felt a sudden desire to join them – how odd would it be, to learn with others instead of being tutored one-on-one by some ancient scholar?

Junmyeon and Jongin took one last turn. An imposing edifice rose from the woods in front of them.  It was a red building with flags unfurled in the wind. Sentries stood guard right outside the door. Junmyeon led Jongin up the wide stone steps, into the dark depths of the house.

They came to a halt by a heavy wooden door. Junmyeon bowed to the young man standing watch.

“I have come to talk with Teacher Choi. I brought the guest with me.”

“Teacher Choi is expecting you,” answered the young man, and opened the door for Junmyeon and Jongin.

Junmyeon turned to Jongin.

“Do not speak to Teacher Choi unless spoken to. I shall handle this.”

Jongin found Junmyeon’s instructions somewhat insulting, but he had no time to think about it further as they entered the room.

It was the same size as Jongin’s bedroom in the Palace, with calligraphy art and bookshelves lining the walls and a raised seat at the end of the room. In it was sitting a man who took Jongin by surprise.

Somehow, Jongin had assumed that he would be taken to meet yet another old bureaucrat, but this man could not have been more different. The man was most likely in his late twenties, and looked a paragon of health and virility – he had broad shoulders and a strong, healthy bearing. Even seated, Jongin could tell he was a tall man. As the man’s large brown eyes looked up from the papers on his desk and at Jongin, Jongin felt them boring into him.

“ _ Seonsaengnim _ ,” greeted Junmyeon.

“This is him?” asked the man.

“Yes,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

Teacher Choi rose to his feet, eyes still fixed on Jongin. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Jongin felt a hard slap on his back – he had forgotten to bow. Quickly, Jongin dropped his gaze to the floor. He heard Teacher Choi’s soft footsteps as he approached and stopped in front of Jongin.

“How is your ankle?” asked the man.

Jongin cleared his throat, surprised by the question. “It’s fine, s…”

He regretted saying that at once – Teacher Choi knocked Jongin’s ankle with his own, and Jongin yelped in pain, grabbing Junmyeon for support so as not to fall.

“Clearly it’s not fine. Sit down.”

A servant had brought a pillow for Jongin. Junmyeon remained standing further back; Jongin could hear his breathing in the echoing hall.

“The first thing I want you to understand, Jongin, is that I do not like being lied to,” said Teacher Choi. “This place is built on trust and integrity.”

Jongin’s heart had begun to race; he was not wont to begging, but now he said, “ _ Seonsaengnim _ , please tell me where I am.”

“You don’t know?”

“I…” Jongin hesitated. It wasn’t entirely true – he had an inkling. Dared he voice it aloud? It could cost him dearly.

“This is the Hwarang, isn’t it?”

Teacher Choi did not acknowledge Jongin’s answer.

“What were you doing in the forest last night, Kim Jongin?”

Jongin looked up unwittingly. The brown eyes were staring at him, stern but not hostile. The two men watched each other for a minute.

“I came to look for the Hwarang.”

The man was quiet for a moment.

“You are interested in the Hwarang?”

Teacher Choi’s eyes shifted temporarily to Junmyeon, who seemed just as perplexed by Jongin’s words.

Teacher Choi said shrewdly, “Let me guess – you have watched our students fight and you want to become one of them?”

Not exactly, no, Jongin thought – but he couldn’t talk about Moonlight and the flutter in the pit of his belly.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Then you should know that I have no use for you, Jongin,” answered Teacher Choi.

Jongin’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean,  _ seonsaengnim _ ?”

“Manners,” hissed Junmyeon.

“That is enough, Junmyeon,” said Teacher Choi firmly, and fixed the other boy with a stare. Then he looked back at Jongin. “Do you think you could serve the Crown Prince and Queen Dowager with an attitude like that?”

Jongin’s face felt hot, but for all the wrong reasons. If this man only knew…

“Firstly, the Hwarang is much more than just a military school. We teach our students ethics, the classics, religion, dance and music – all the things in life that are worth fighting for. Secondly, you would have to be of noble birth to enter.”

Again, Jongin felt hot under Teacher Choi’s stare – what was he supposed to say? If they knew, if Teacher Choi or Junmyeon knew…

Well, one thing was for certain – Jongin would never be allowed to enter if they knew he was the Crown Prince; he should be nowhere near this place as the head of state.

“Junmyeon, leave us,” said Teacher Choi suddenly.

“Pardon? Oh, yes, _ seonsaengnim _ .” Junmyeon bowed and backed out of the hall.

Jongin was struck with loneliness and helplessness all of a sudden. At least Junmyeon had shown him some kindness. Now, he was all alone with a top military commander, who he was sure could see right through him…

“Now that we are alone, I want you to tell me your real name.”

Jongin’s whole body went numb.

“My name is Jongin.”

“And what is your family name? You do understand that the Hwarang only accepts  _ jingol _ and families of the highest head ranks? And if you were a member of those ranks, surely you would have easier and more official ways of joining us?”

Jongin could say nothing to this – his dream of finding the dancer, Moonlight, was fast slipping away, as was his one chance to find a life outside the Palace walls.

And then, quicker than Jongin’s eye could follow, Teacher Choi had drawn his wooden sword.

“Bring him one too,” said Teacher Choi.

Jongin wondered who he was talking to, but then a young boy scuttled in from the dark corner of the room, carrying a wooden sword. Jongin’s hand shook as he took it.

“What are you going to do,  _ seonsaengnim _ ?” he whispered. “I can barely stand…”

Teacher Choi’s sword flashed, and Jongin reacted instinctively, the way he had been taught in the Palace. He dodged the thrust and attempted to attack, but his effort was easily brushed aside. He parried another thrust, but the third one failed – the wooden sword hit him hard across the back. All air escaped his lungs as he fell flat on his stomach. He gasped for oxygen; his eyes were watering, either from pain, shame, or homesickness. He tried to rise, but his head was swimming...

And then, Jongin felt a strong hand pulling him up.

“You are welcome, Jongin,” said Teacher Choi.

“W-what? But I didn’t…”

“Most people would not have even survived my initial attack. You survived two. I can tell you have received proper training, the kind that only a member of high rank would receive.”

The sudden pain he was feeling seemed to wane as the full realisation of the sentence dawned on Jongin.

“Is that what you want to do here? Fight?”

Shyly, Jongin nodded.

Teacher Choi corrected him: “‘Yes,  _ seonsaengnim _ .’”

“Yes,  _ seonsaengnim _ ,” Jongin repeated.

“Very well.” Teacher Choi went back to his seat. “First, your ankle must heal. But that is just as well – that will give you time to acquaint yourself with other aspects of our Academy. Bring Junmyeon in,” he said to the young man hiding in the shadows nearby.

“Yes,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

“I did not get a chance to introduce myself earlier. My name is Choi. Choi Minho. You will come to know me as Teacher Choi. I hope I will come to know you too, Jongin.”

Jongin was spared from answering as the door opened and Junmyeon came in.

“Show Kim Jongin to his dormitory. He will move into the Eastern Quarters and will be your charge for today, Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon seemed a little unnerved by this – he looked from Choi Minho to Jongin, but had no chance to protest.

“Very well. Good day to you,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

Junmyeon turned on his heel, and Jongin followed him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was this close to having the iconic line "My name is Minho" in my fic but... somehow I managed to avoid it. /OT


	6. Chapter Six

Unlike a moment ago, it was quiet at the Academy – Jongin suspected that the students were either in class or having lunch. He trailed behind Junmyeon as the man strode on purposefully, without turning or talking to Jongin.

“Where are we going?” Jongin asked, limping after Junmyeon.

“To the eastern side of the Academy where your dormitory will be, as Teacher Choi said.”

“What will I do then?” Jongin asked before he could help himself.

At last, Junmyeon stopped. The look on his face was weary. A cold wave of shame sluiced through Jongin – he wasn’t used to being a burden.

“Nevermind,” he said quickly.

“One thing,” said Junmyeon. “You are to call me hyung from now on.”

“Oh, right – sorry, hyung.”

Junmyeon turned round again and they resumed their pace. Junmyeon didn’t see how Jongin savoured the word.  _ Hyung. _

He savoured it and everything it entailed – submission, yes, acknowledgement of being outranked – but also care and belonging.

They had left the heart of the Academy behind. This was a less busy and more peaceful part of the complex. Several trees were growing here, and the air was full of birdsong and gentle lapping from a stream somewhere close.

And then Jongin caught the faint sound of music – the pluck of a  _ gayageum _ , and the cheerful tinkle of small cymbals.

“Where’s that music coming from, hyung?” he asked.

“It’s as Teacher Choi told you: we learn more than martial arts here. They’re having a dance or music class, I would imagine.”

Jongin wanted to stay, to take in the sound and go closer – could the dancer girl be right there, behind that wall?

But Junmyeon walked on and urged Jongin to follow. They walked a little further down a tiled path, hedged with trees, until they arrived on a walled compound.

“This is the Eastern Quarters,” explained Junmyeon. “Our martial arts students sleep here.”

It being daytime, the sleeping quarters were quiet. There were four buildings built within the walls. With a flutter in his belly, Jongin trailed behind Junmyeon into the compound.

Two figures were standing guard outside the gates – or, rather than standing, they were slouching about the place, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Junmyeon greeted them.

“Good morning, Taeyong.”

Some life came back to the two boys as they stared at Jongin, curious about this stranger.

“Jongin here is a new student. I will show him around your dormitory.”

“Right,” Taeyong muttered, distracted by Jongin.

Junmyeon led Jongin through the gate and into one of the buildings. It was an airy space with creamy sunlight filtering in through the windows. In one of the rooms, there were two rows of beds with blue silk bedding. Above the beds on the wall were name tags. One of the beds was unclaimed.

“You will sleep in that bed, Jongin,” Junmyeon said. “You can leave your…”

It occurred to Junmyeon then that Jongin had no belongings.

“Nevermind. We will get you a uniform. Come.”

Once again, Jongin followed Junmyeon.

“Where do you reside – hyung?” Jongin asked as they walked.

“I sleep in the Western Quarters.”

“Why?”

“That is where the academics live. You were put in the Eastern Quarters because you will pursue martial arts.”

“I see,” said Jongin slowly. He wondered if he dared to ask…

“I heard there were dancers in this Academy.”

“You are correct.”

“Where do they sleep?”

Junmyeon glanced at Jongin over his shoulder.

“In the Southern Quarters. There are two – one for men and one for women. But we’re not allowed into the women’s quarters.”

“Oh, of course not,” replied Jongin quickly.

Junmyeon afforded him a smile. “Apart from that, we all do socialise with each other. It just doesn’t happen very often. We’re all too busy. That, or competitive.”

The Academy had a sewing quarters and a laundry area not too far from where Jongin would live. They were welcomed in by a group of young women – the first ones Jongin saw at the Academy – who took Jongin’s measurements with one swift glance at gave him a blue uniform to wear along with ceremonial robes and a sparring uniform.

With trembling hands and a fluttering stomach, Jongin went behind a folding screen and donned the blue uniform. The cloth was crisp but flexible, dignified but allowing for unhampered movement, resembling the training robes Jongin had worn in the Palace. Yet this robe made Jongin elated in a way he had not felt since the first time he had put on his training robes in the Palace at the age of eight.

And this time, when he stepped out of the sewing quarters with Junmyeon, he looked like everybody else. The robes Jongin wore in the Palace were always made to inform others of Jongin’s eminence; to set him apart from everyone. Now, there was nothing remarkable about him – his princely status was of no consequence – and he felt free because of it.

“You can come with me for now. I have some responsibilities I must see to,” said Junmyeon.

The midday sun shone down on the vast stoned courtyard as they crossed it. The gates were flung open to allow for the bustle of the day. Students came and went, some of them in strict formation en route to sparring classes, others in ragtag assortments, laughing and talking loudly. Various bouts of conversation and laughter floated through the campus.

Junmyeon and Jongin turned onto a smaller path, buffeted by a stream of students heading for their next class, and took a gravel road in the shade of neatly trimmed trees that led away from the Academy proper. They walked some way down and suddenly on their right spread a vast field. Foxtails, their aws thick and plump, were billowing in the breeze.

Three young men in coolie hats were bowed over the brown soil, two of them hoeing idly while one of them sowed seeds. He wiped his brow and his coolie hat fell off, which was when he noticed Junmyeon and Jongin standing by the edge of the field. Kun pointed at them, and the two others looked up as well, frowning.

Jongin recognised the three boys then: it was Kun, Yangyang and Sicheng.

“They were put to work here because of the prank they pulled last night,” muttered Junmyeon knowingly.

Jongin’s cheeks felt hot. This fact explained why the three boys looked at him so coldly.

“They glared at me,” said Jongin resentfully.

“Pay no heed to that,” said Junmyeon, gesturing Jongin to follow, as the three young men watched them. “Serves them well. We all know better than to break the rules. Besides – glaring is not the worst thing they could do to you!”

They left the field and passed a bridge, and Jongin saw a group of students sitting on the rocks jutting out of the stream, washing uniforms in the river. The river was red and blue from the uniforms floating in the river.

On a nearby court there were young men training, the hems and sleeves of their uniforms flapping like whips – the steady  _ clack-clack-clack _ of the wooden practice swords echoed off the nearby buildings and mingled with grunts from the fighters and commands from the teacher. The boys paced back and forth on the court, repeating the same patterns for what must have been the thousandth time. Jongin had always fancied himself a passable swordsman, but now he watched their athleticism and grace in awe.

“Good, aren’t they?” asked Junmyeon with a smile, having noticed Jongin’s absorption.

Jongin nodded, not wanting to say his thoughts aloud –  _ I want to be like them _ .

Jongin turned his head, and over a low wall he glimpsed a row of archery targets shaped from straw. On the opposite end of the court stood a group of students in flaming red uniforms with bows in hand. One by one they took their aim, while a teacher walked behind them and corrected their poses. Jongin blinked and then it was already over – the straw targets were pierced by at least a dozen arrows.

They continued past the archery field and arrived at the Academy stables. A couple of horses were grazing on a meadow behind the stables. Their coats shined beautifully in the sun.

“Oh!”

The door to the stables opened abruptly, and a tall dark boy with large inquisitive eyes stepped out.

“Junmyeon hyung! Is it lunchtime yet?”

Junmyeon gave him a click of tongue.

“You would have heard the gong sound from here, Yukhei.”

“Right. Wishful thinking,” said the tall young man. He had just noticed Jongin, and was measuring him up with his stare.

“It’s you, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you in that uniform!”

Yukhei stepped forward and grabbed Jongin by the shoulders.

“Yukhei,” said Junmyeon forbiddingly.

“Oh, right, sorry…”

He wiped his dirty hands on the back of his robes.

“How are the stables?” asked Junmyeon.

“See for yourself, hyung.”

Junmyeon went inside.

Left alone, Jongin plucked up his courage and stepped forward shyly. He said to Yukhei, “I want to thank you for what you did for me last night.”

“Yeah well,” said Yukhei, and pointed towards the stables. “You might get a chance to pay me back later.”

Jongin didn’t get chance to reply, because just then there was a wail from inside the stables, and Junmyeon came out, dragging Guanheng by the scruff.

“Ouch! Let me go, I didn’t do anything!”

“If you haven’t had enough sleep, that’s your problem,” snapped Junmyeon. “And maybe next time think twice before you go running around all night.”

“All right, all right! Blimey…” Guanheng tore himself free and rubbed his neck. His eyes strayed to Jongin then, and Jongin saw recognition dawning in them.

“What are you doing here?” Guanheng blurted out.

The rudeness of the boy’s words and tone was like a slap in Jongin’s face – he still remembered Guanheng’s aloofness from last night and how he had refused to carry Jongin’s stretcher.

“Watch who you’re talking to,” Jongin snapped back, the words just escaping him, and regretted it immediately.

All three men staring at him, and his face felt hot while his insides seemed to turn ice.

Guanheng’s cheeks reddened from the insult and a similar burning had come to his eyes.

“What did you just say?” he asked, taking a step closer to Jongin. “Who exactly AM I talking to? Who do you think you are, marching in here?”

“Come off it, Guanheng,” said Yukhei, and held the boy back by the arm.

Guanheng yanked himself free. With a nasty glare at Jongin, he strode back into the stables and slammed the door shut as he went, a chorus of frightened neighing accompanying the act.

“You’d best go after him,” said Junmyeon quickly.

“But hyung…”

“No buts. Wait till the dinner gong. You know the rules.”

* * *

Jongin was in deep awe of everything he had witnessed up to this point at the Academy. He couldn’t believe they had let him in – that he had found the Hwarang and that he was now part of them.

Except, not really. Jongin wasn’t sure if he could do anything that would be asked of him. What’s more, he had a deep-seated fear that he was unwanted. These students had trained and studied together for years, and Jongin would be an intruder.

When the dinner gong finally sounded, which seemed only a moment later, Junmyeon showed Jongin to the dining halls where the junior students ate. A delicious smell of food met Jongin in the court. He hadn’t eaten anything since the breakfast Junmyeon had brought him, and he entered the hall gladly, stomach rumbling with hunger – but as he did, and his eyes adjusted to the light inside, he saw at least three dozen eyes staring back at him. Trying to make himself as small as possible, he slunk back and took a seat at one of the tables in the crowded room.

Jongin had always hated the long walk to his throne across the Throne Hall in the Palace, being watched by rows and rows of ministers and scholar-officials. This was no different. The two boys sitting closest to him moved their tables away. A part of him – a weak, lonely part – wanted to be just about anywhere else just then.

But there was a welcome distraction then as a group of six boys made its way into the courtyard. Some of them brought with them a strong smell of horse. Jongin recognised all but one of them. Their faces were glowing with exertion and sun.

They dropped heavily down at the free tables, which were obviously reserved for them. Porcelain scraped against polished wood as they pulled the cups of rice closer. For a minute they were too busy wolfing down their dinners and filling their aching stomachs to even look up. Then…

“Hey! Aren’t you that Jongin guy?”

Ears burning from hearing his name, Jongin looked up to meet Yangyang's eyes. He felt all other gazes on him in the periphery of his vision.

“Yes, I am,” he replied, finding a shred of royal dignity within himself.

Yangyang took in Jongin’s new Hwarang uniform; Guanheng and Sicheng put their heads together and whispered frantically.

There was a loud clink of chopsticks. Yukhei had leapt up and said, “Come, sit with us!”

Jongin saw the imperceptible flicker of nerves and hesitation amongst the other guys, and he knew he wasn’t entirely welcome; but the mere fact that Yukhei at least accepted him was enough.

He mustered his courage and walked over.

“Here, you can sit here”, said the kind-faced boy whose name Jongin didn’t know. “I’m Xiaojun. The others have told me all about you.”

“Oh,” Jongin replied, feeling a little dumb, but grateful all the same. It seemed like everybody in the dining hall was watching him, but suddenly it didn’t matter so much anymore – he wasn’t alone.

“So you’ll start learning martial arts?” Xiaojun continued. “I’m an arts student, myself.”

“Yeah, be careful, or Xiaojun will write a ballad of you,” snickered Yangyang.

“That uniform looks good on you!” said Yukhei, tugging at Jongin’s uniform. “You’re one of us now, eh?”

Jongin flushed hot with pleasure and awkwardness from being touched so brashly; so freely, as though and equal – but he would gladly get used to it.

_ Us. _

He had done it. He had become a Hwarang.

“So when are you going to start training with us? You know it takes more than a fancy uniform to become a Hwarang,” said Sicheng, with Guanheng giving a quick chuckle.

Kun shot the two of them a glare, but the damage was already done. Jongin felt an instinctive desire to stand up and let them have it – had they been in the Palace, he would have had every right to chide both of them – but this was not the Palace, and Jongin was no longer the Crown Prince. He had wanted to leave that burdensome title behind, and he had.

“He’s one of us now. Show some respect,” said Kun.

“Yeah, don’t mind them,” said Yangyang, giving Guanheng a shove. “Personally, I can’t wait to see you kick their butts in combat!”

“There will be no kicking anyone’s butt!” snapped Kun.

Jongin dropped his gaze back to his dinner, but not before Yukhei had shot him a wink.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been a bit inconsistent with my posting, I'm in the process of moving house and it's been a bit difficult to find the right headspace to write. 
> 
> In other news, is everyone enjoying WayV's comeback??

A bell rang half an hour later and the hall filled with noise as the diners rose up in unison and returned to their activities. Jongin trailed out after Kun and Yukhei and their pack. It seemed that by now, word of Jongin had spread around the Academy. He had known to expect it, but the increased attention and the naked curiosity on the students’ faces still made him uneasy.

On one level, Jongin was used to being the centre of attention – perks of being the King of Silla, after all – but now, he had no role behind which to disappear – no advisors, no bodyguards, no authority. What he did have was the weight of his secret on his shoulders.

Jongin spent the rest of the day with Junmyeon, who showed him around the Academy while the others went to their classes. By the time Junmyeon brought Jongin back to his dormitory, the sun had wandered down in the horizon and turned the sky red.

Jongin was relieved to find that he shared the bedchamber with Yukhei, Yangyang and Guanheng – the three of them were lounging under a tree in the courtyard, enjoying the evening.

“Jongin? You’re going to stay with us?” asked Yukhei, jumping to his feet. “Which bedchamber do you sleep in?”

About an hour later they turned in for the night, which for Jongin would be his first in the Eastern Quarters. Their bedchamber accommodated six beds, three on each wall. He shared the space with Yukhei, Guanheng, Yangyang and two older boys named Baekhyun and Chanyeol, who were there, according to Baekhyun, to “keep an eye on you lot.”

“We were appointed by Junmyeon. He’s too scared to set foot in the martial artists’ quarters, so he sent us instead,” added Chanyeol.

“You know you wouldn’t need to be here if you had just showed up last night and let us in as promised,” Guanheng said to Baekhyun.

Baekhyun pooh-poohed him. “We were busy last night.”

“Oh yeah? Doing what? Stealing people’s wallets again?”

Jongin shot a sharp look at the two older boys. He wasn’t sure if they were the same boys he had seen at the Peach Garden, but even if they were, it wasn’t like Jongin could tell them. So he bit his tongue and stayed quiet.

“Keep your nose out of other people’s business,” Chanyeol to Guanheng. “And anyway, we would be here regardless of what happened last night.”

As much as these Chanyeol and Baekhyun tried to tell them that they were here to watch over everyone, Jongin knew they meant him specifically. While Jongin couldn’t blame them (or Teacher Choi, who must have been behind this arrangement), it made Jongin feel like a marked man.

“So you’re the new student?” Chanyeol said, walking up to Jongin. “Which bed do you sleep in?”

Jongin pointed to the one closest to the door. Obviously, if he had had his way, he would have picked a different bed, because he didn’t trust sleeping next to the door. He knew that this was one of the safest places in Silla, apart from Donggung, but it didn’t help assuage his fears.

Beyond that, he hadn’t anticipated how busy the sleeping quarters would be with six boys. The other boys kept walking in and out the door as they got ready for the night. They poured water into washbasins and washed their faces and combed their hair. What would have normally been quite an uncomplicated procedure, turned into a commotion when Yangyang spilled water on the floor and Yukhei’s bed. The two boys wrestled for a bit, and neither Baekhyun nor Chanyeol blinked an eye.

The others got undressed and changed into their night robes, and Jongin knew he had to do so as well. Making sure his back was turned, he stripped quickly and put on his night robes. The fabric was cool and crisp on his skin, and he felt slightly better as he stretched out on the silk bedding on his straw mattress.

“What are you doing?” Guanheng asked Yangyang, looking up from his bed.

“Shush!” said Yangyang, following something invisible with his gaze. He rose up slowly, reached out his hands –  _ smack! _

A triumphant expression spread across his face – but then the buzzing continued.

“Ugh, someone else catch it!” groaned Yangyang and flopped down on his bed.

“Okay, bedtime, everyone!” boomed Chanyeol and blew out all the candles before throwing himself on one of the mattresses.

Jongin saw a hand shoot out from the dark.

“Got it!” came Guanheng’s muffled voice from under the bedcovers, and the buzzing stopped.

It was replaced by steady breathing from the beds around Jongin, occasionally interrupted by a short shred of conversation and a mumbled reply, but even those ceased eventually. The deep peaceful silence made Jongin’s eyelids grow heavy. His body craved rest.

Left alone with his thoughts in the dead of the night, Jongin’s thoughts drifted to his home. For a brief moment he felt like a child again, and a part of him wanted to be tucked in by his mother. But then he remembered that his mother, as he wanted to remember her, no longer existed. He remembered the ravings, the heartache and shame, and with grim pleasure, Jongin was glad to be free.

His thoughts changed, taking the shape of a dancing girl. All of a sudden, Jongin smelled the incense in his nose; the rice wine, the flowery perfumes, all of the Peach Garden. The assault to his senses; the scent of freedom. And he saw the girl spinning, spinning wildly like a whirlwind that draws everything in, all stares on her – and then it all faded into nothing, because the girl was looking at Jongin, and nobody else, and Jongin drowned in the tenderness he felt for the girl…

He sighed and sat up on his bed.

“Can’t you sleep?”

Startled, Jongin looked around the room for the source of the voice. It belonged to Chanyeol, who had raised his head from the pillows.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Jongin shrugged. “Maybe it’s the bed. I don’t like sleeping next to the door.”

“Well, that can be sorted,” Chanyeol whispered back, and tossed his blanket aside. “Let’s change.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to…”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

And so Jongin got up as well, and crossed the room to Chanyeol’s bed. It was warm from Chanyeol’s body heat, which felt a little strange, but eventually Jongin fell into light sleep.

Perhaps it was because he slept so lightly that he heard the sounds through his translucent sleep.

He woke up with a start, heart racing. The others were still asleep around him, so it wasn’t them making the sound.

It was something scraping somewhere nearby. Footsteps. Jongin didn’t know why, but he was reminded of the rats he sometimes saw in the Palace.

And then – a sound from the door.

A sliver of moonlight crept into the bedchamber.

Jongin fought back the urge to scream. He tossed his blanket aside and felt for something, anything, next to his bed, and finally his fingers clasped around a lantern.

He crept out of his bed just as the sliver of moonlight was blocked by a silhouette. A dark figure entered the room.

“HEY!”

Jongin’s cry came just in time.

Several things happened all at once – with a rustle, heads popped out from between the blankets. The dark figure had frozen in the doorway for a mere second, and Jongin decided to act.

He dived across the floor and hurled the lantern at the dark stranger. The stranger lifted his hands up for protection, and in that breath that he was distracted, a long leg stuck out from between the bedding in the bed closest to the door. The leg hit the dark figure in the knee and felled him.

Chanyeol leapt out of his bed, pinning the man down.

Trembling, Jongin crept to him. The man squirmed on the floor, groaning in pain…

“No, wait!” Chanyeol lifted a forbidding hand at Jongin.

By now, the others had lit up the lanterns by their beds.

“Baekhyun, light!” said Chanyeol.

The other hyung walked over, illuminating the man’s face. It was covered with a black cloth. The only thing visible was the shifting eyes that were looking for escape…

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” asked Chanyeol.

Jongin was surprised to hear the note of fear in Chanyeol’s voice – they were out of their depth here.

The man breathed raggedly through the cloth over his mouth.

“Guanheng, go and fetch Teacher Choi,” ordered Jongin.

The younger boy seemed to be too shocked to act and reluctant to take orders from Jongin, but finally he ran out from the back.

It all happened at once, as if the name of Teacher Choi had had that effect – Chanyeol and Baekhyun were thrown on their backs, the lantern went out as it fell, and the dark figure tore through the rice paper window. A cool nocturnal breeze blew into the bedchamber. Jongin stared at the hole through which the stranger had left.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun rose up from the floor, coughing and dazed.

“Come, Chanyeol!” said Baekhyun valiantly, turning towards the window.

“No!” shouted Yukhei. “You don’t know if he’s still out there!”

“I’m counting on it,” hissed Chanyeol, and made for the window – only to be stopped by Baekhyun this time.

“Yukhei is right,” he said. “Even if the man is still out there… He may not be alone.”

A deep and restless hush fell into the bedchamber. The boys looked at each other, sharing the knowledge of what had just happened – but no one more so than Jongin. He had a feeling that attacks such as this weren’t an everyday occurrence at the Academy. He was supposed to be in one of the safest places in Silla, and yet, their life had been threatened, on Jongin’s second night at the Academy.

Jongin gave a shiver which nobody saw.

“You’re all right, aren’t you, everyone?” asked Yukhei, turning to the others.

“Yeah,” said Yangyang gruffly, nodding his head a little too much.

“Jongin?”

He jumped upon hearing his name called.

“I, uh, yes.”

“Clever thinking with the lantern,” commended Baekhyun, and picked up the object from the floor.

“Yeah,” said Chanyeol. “Dunno what would’ve happened if… if…”

_ CRASH! _

The door at the back of the bedchamber flew open. In the doorway stood Teacher Choi, with Guanheng peeking in over his shoulder.

“He came that way,” said Guanheng, but Teacher Choi needn’t have been told. He strode across the room to the shredded window, and knelt down to observe the scene.

“Jongin yelled out and threw a lantern at him,” recounted Chanyeol. “That woke me up. The man was so distracted that I managed to kick him.”

“What happened then?” asked Teacher Choi sombrely. “Why isn’t he still in captivity?”

Chanyeol looked embarrassed.

“He overpowered us,” explained Baekhyun. “We’re sorry,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

Teacher Choi looked back at the window. The hush in the room was so tense they could have cut it with a knife.

“Whose bed is this?” asked Teacher Choi. “Were you sleeping in this, Chanyeol?”

“Well, yes, but...” Chanyeol turned towards Jongin. “It was Jongin’s originally,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

Teacher Choi wheeled round on Jongin, who was suddenly feeling terrified. He knew, from the stare that Teacher Choi gave him, that Teacher Choi was having second thoughts about Jongin. Who  _ was _ Jongin? Jongin stared back at Teacher Choi, determined not to give him reason to distrust him. Once again he felt like a marked man.

But then Teacher Choi let Jongin go of the trap of his stare and rose to his feet.

“Nobody will sleep here tonight. Pack up your things.”

“Where are we going?” asked Yukhei.

“To the Southern Quarters.”

“What does that mean?” Jongin whispered to Yukhei as they filed out of the bedchamber after Teacher Choi.

“The dancers’ quarters,” explained Yukhei. “They room in the South.”

* * *

They hurried after Teacher Choi in the darkness. The courtyards were quiet apart from the odd bird hooting somewhere and the thud of their footsteps. The labyrinthine passages into south of the Academy seemed to stretch on forever. Nobody spoke; but Jongin could sense they were all bursting at the seams with questions.

At last a light appeared from behind the maze of walls. They arrived in a courtyard illuminated by several small lanterns dangling from the large tree. Similar lanterns were hanging from the eaves of the dormitory and the small wooden platform built in the centre of the courtyard. Jongin had no doubt that this was the dancers’ quarters.

The courtyard was filled with quiet buzzing – the students had been roused from their beds and now they were huddled up in the courtyard, peering anxiously at Teacher Choi and the students that he had brought with him.

Teacher Choi waved an arm for silence, and it fell at once – the dancers were dying to hear what had happened. Their eyes were hungrily studying Yukhei, Guanheng, Yangyang, Baekhyun and Chanyeol – and most of all, Jongin.

In the crowd, Jongin spotted Sicheng. He eyed Jongin darkly, as if he had prophesied that something like this would happen.

“There has been an incident in the Eastern Quarters,” Teacher Choi began. “These students will sleep here tonight. You will leave them be and get some sleep – your classes will begin at dawn tomorrow. No exceptions. Is that understood?”

“Yes,  _ seonsaengnim _ !” echoed the crowd, if a little uncertainly.

“Kibum, Sehun, you will lead these students to their dormitories, and…”

But Jongin was no longer listening – his breath had got caught in his throat.

Amongst the strange faces staring at them was one that he would have recognised anywhere. The mouth like rose petals; the soft, inquisitive eyes.

She was here. Just as she had told Jongin she would.

But she had not seen Jongin; instead, she looked away, listening as another boy, smaller and feline-like, whispered something to her.

Before Jongin could stop himself, he made to move.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Hey, where are you off to?” asked Yukhei worriedly.

Jongin looked back at the crowd of dancers – but the dancer girl had disappeared.


	8. Chapter Eight

  
  


Nobody in Jongin’s dormitory slept that night. In fact, the entire dancers’ quarters had been left in a state of confusion ever since Teacher Choi and the other teachers had departed. A dozen older students had been called out to stand guard outside the gates, but even with the increased security, Jongin was too anxious to sleep – and he wasn’t the only one. It didn’t help that all around him there was muttered talk and whispers.

And despite all this, to Jongin, the attack felt no more than a distant nightmare – no matter how frightened he ought to have felt, it seemed inconsequential after what had happened since: he had found Moonlight.

The morning dawned slowly, and one by one, those lucky few who had managed to get some sleep lifted their heads from the pillows, looking groggy. Others, who had been too busy talking about the attack to sleep, got up readily from their mattresses, still in their overcoats.

Jongin closed his eyes as Yukhei tiptoed past his bed.

“Is he awake? Jongin?” whispered Baekhyun.

“Nope, still asleep,” answered Yukhei.

“Well, good for him. He didn’t seem all right last night.”

“Wonder why that was?” muttered Sicheng, whose dormitory they had crashed and who had been shoved into the corner.

“What do you mean?” asked Baekhyun sternly.

“Oh, he and Jongin just got off on the wrong foot,” interjected Yukhei. “Sicheng here probably thinks Jongin is to blame for all this.”

Sicheng’s voice quivered with indignation as he answered: “You think it’s all in my head, but do you think it’s a coincidence that the minute he shows up, strange people like that attacker manage to infiltrate the Academy?”

“But he saved Chanyeol’s life,” said Baekhyun.

Sicheng had no retort to this.

Jongin lay still, careful not to move. He felt a trickle of gratitude towards Baekhyun and Yukhei.

“Off you go now, we’ve got to stagger the bathroom use,” said Baekhyun. “Yukhei, wake up the others.”

Jongin listened to the whispered urgings of ‘Wake up’ all around him, and the quiet grunts that replied to Yukhei as he went from bed to bed. At last, his footsteps neared Jongin’s straw bed.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Time to get up, Jongin.”

Jongin pretended to prise open his eyes and met Yukhei’s wide brown ones. Somebody had opened the window, and the bedchamber was flooded with pale sunlight. There was a furrow between Yukhei’s brows.

“You all right, Jongin?”

“What? Yes, of course,” Jongin lied deftly and sat up.

It was then that the sound floated in through the open window: the echo of a  _ buk _ drum from somewhere in the compound. Jongin’s heart gave a leap at the sound before he could even register its meaning consciously. The rhythmic rat-tat-tat repeated, sounds turning into music.

Jongin got out of bed, threw on his robes and headed out into the courtyard.

Drumming could only mean one thing: dance.

Fresh morning air entered his nose as he stepped out of the bedchamber. The drumming grew louder, and as Jongin followed the source of the sound, he caught sight of movement on the wooden stage in the courtyard.

Two  _ buk _ drums stood on the stage. The dancer drummed them as he moved, lifting a leg in a fluid motion, then his hand. The beat quickened, and so did his moves, the boom of the drums almost painful in Jongin’s recently awoken ears.

Suddenly the dancer sprang forward across the stage, and as he did so, the drumming changed into rapid clack as the dancer struck the drumsticks together over his head.

He twirled quickly, purple robes billowing, quickening his rhythm, the drumming rising into a rapid crescendo before the dancer dropped to his knees and the music stopped. A sharp silence fell.

Jongin half-expected to hear a hearty round of applause as he would have in the Palace during the royal banquets, where dancers cavorted for the amusement of the court.

But there was no response, and neither had the dancer expected there to be. He paced around a bit, shook off his muscles, and returned to his starting point to repeat what he had just done.

But before he could do that, his gaze landed on Jongin. Jongin bristled; he’d been caught watching. The feeling reminded of that night at the Peach Garden. This boy even danced like Moonlight – with the same flexible grace of a cat.

Jongin was snapped out of his reverie when he heard the door open behind him, and Yukhei, Guanheng, Yangyang and Sicheng emerged into the courtyard, yawning and stretching.

“Oh, so this is where you got to, Jongin.”

“You’re late.”

They wheeled round. The dancer boy hopped off the stage and crossed over to them.

Up close, he was lean and of short stature; yet he had a presence that was hard to ignore. His feline eyes were sharp and proud, and the tone of his voice was commanding for someone so slender: “As long as you’re in our quarters, you’ll abide by our rules.”

“Oh, come on, Yongqin, we almost got killed last night!” Yangyang protested.

“If you had, you would’ve been excused,” quipped the boy, Yongqin.

His eyes returned to Jongin, narrowing as if Yongqin was trying to see into Jongin’s thoughts. Jongin felt almost as uncomfortable as he had under Teacher Choi’s stare.

“You must be that guy they found in the woods. Jongin, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” replied Jongin, insulted by being regarded as a trinket to be found somewhere. “And who am I talking to?”

The boy seemed temporarily taken aback by Jongin’s directness – but then his lips curved into a smile.

“My name is Yongqin. I’m a dancer, as you could probably tell. And  _ you _ lot,” he pointed at the others, “Happen to be crashing in our dormitory.”

“All right, all right, we get it,” interjected Yukhei. “We’ll get going. I’m starving, anyway.”

“Which class do you have first?” asked Sicheng.

“On Wednesdays it’s archery,” replied Yangyang. “We’ve still got to go and get changed.”

* * *

An hour later, they had had their breakfast and gotten changed into their exercise robes, Jongin for the first time here. It was a handsome blue robe with finely stitched leather over the shoulders against which you could brace the bow string as you drew it. For their archery lesson, they also strapped leather arm-guards around their forearms. Jongin’s were new and satisfyingly stiff.

Together, the four of them – Yukhei, Yangyang, Guanheng and Jongin – set off towards the archery grounds, just a short walk from the martial artists’ quarters.

Jongin had seen this place briefly yesterday, but the sight still gave him butterflies: a thin mist hung above the place, turning the straw targets into ghostly shapes. The newly risen sun filtered in through the woods behind the court.

Some students were already there, warming up on their own, moving silhouetted against the light.

Jongin followed the others as they entered the court and greeted the other students there. Jongin tried to blend in, but soon he found himself standing on his own by the gate, clueless as to what to do.

Teacher Choi arrived not long after, and walked straight up to Jongin.

“You are injured, Jongin. You have no business setting foot in this court until your ankle has healed.”

“What? But I would be ashamed to not be included,” Jongin protested, knowing that he was pushing his luck by arguing with a teacher.

“It’s for your own good. You will do more damage to yourself if you train,” answered Teacher Choi.

Jongin opened his mouth, but Teacher Choi silenced him with a stare. It would have been easier for Jongin to accept the order if he wasn’t so tired of being told not to do things because it was for his own good.

Stomach sinking, Jongin stayed back and watched as the others marched into the court and took their positions. Yukhei gave him an apologetic shrug, having watched the conversation between Jongin and Teacher Choi from afar (as had the rest of the students).

As much as Jongin would have wanted to participate, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad – it was pretty exciting just to watch the others train. Once again, Jongin was in awe of his fellow students’ grace and power, even when it was obvious that they were still mere students, who had trained a year or two at most.

Guanheng was clearly the best bowman out of them – he kept hitting the bull’s eye, arrow after arrow. About halfway through the lesson, Teacher Choi told them to go and tack their horses. The students returned a moment later, and they switched to horseback archery.

“You’re not finished yet?”

Jongin turned round and saw Kun approaching. He was holding a scroll in one hand and an apple in the other.

“No. I think they’re just getting started,” Jongin replied.

Kun came to him a little awkwardly, obviously not knowing what to talk about now that they were alone.

“Are you hungry?” Kun asked, offering Jongin another apple. “I have more of these.”

“No, thanks.”

They fell silent for a minute, watching their fellow students warming up their horses. Some of them were more comfortable on horseback than others. Yukhei and Yangyang trotted around the court, looking like they’d been born on horseback. Guanheng, on the other hand, was gripping the reins tightly, and his body was hunched and taut.

Teacher Choi told them to shoot at three archery targets at a canter.

“I heard about what happened in your quarters last night,” said Kun. “Is it true you were attacked?”

“Oh – yes,” Jongin said, taken aback by the question. He still couldn’t shake the horrible suspicion that the attacker had been after him, and would have preferred to forget about the whole incident.

“Weren’t you afraid?”

“Of course I was. I mean, he… Nevermind.”

Kun frowned. “But you all fought him off?”

“Yes. I mean, it was mostly the lanky guy doing it…”

“Chanyeol hyung.”

“Yes. And Baekhyun hyung.”

“Oh yes, he told me.”

Kun listened to Jongin’s story in apparent awe. Jongin got the feeling that Kun didn’t really appreciate the seriousness of what had happened. Chanyeol and Baekhyun hadn’t probably appreciated it either when they had recounted the story to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever heard of something like that happening,” Kun said. “Pity it had to happen on your first day.”

“Yes, pity,” Jongin said quickly, uncomfortable.

He didn’t get to give it more thought, because something happened then.

It was over in a blink of an eye – there was a cry and a dull thud as somebody fell off his horse. It was followed the by ground trembling under Jongin’s feet as the brown mare sprang off and out the gate, tossing its head and hindlegs.

Without a second thought, Jongin ran after the horse. Fortunately, it trotted to a halt not too far from the court.

“Shh, wow… I got you,” Jongin murmured, edging closer.

The horse turned its rear to Jongin as he approached, but didn’t run away. Jongin went round cautiously, slowly reaching the horse. The mare didn’t seem at all malicious, simply perplexed by what had just happened, and scared of going back for the fear of being punished.

Jongin caressed the mare’s neck. It was damp against his palm, and the horse shivered at his touch.

“It’s all right, they won’t be mad at you,” Jongin muttered, faintly hearing in the distance the voices of others, but not making out what they were saying.

“Come, let’s go…”

Without even noting he had, Jongin had seized the reins, slipped his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up in the saddle. He squeezed the horse’s sides and urged it to a gentle trot.

It was only when he saw the faces of his fellow students and Teacher Choi that he realised what he had done.

“You! Get down this instant,” ordered Teacher Choi. “You are not to set foot inside the court!”

“But I’m not!” The retort just slipped out of Jongin’s mouth.

The cringing looks on his fellow students’ faces told him that he had crossed the line.

“Come, Jongin, let me help you down,” offered Yangyang, but Jongin sat still, staring at Teacher Choi.

“Can’t I take part? I don’t need my ankle.”

Teacher Choi stared at him hard, a furrow of indecision between his brows. If he gave an inch now, what would this student ask for in the future?

“Give him a bow and arrows,” said Teacher Choi finally.

The boys stood still for a second, bewildered. In the end, Yukhei walked over and handed his to Jongin’s.

“Everyone, step back,” said Teacher Choi. “Show us what you can do, Jongin.”

Jongin’s hands were shaking as he gripped the reins again. He saw the rows of targets at the centre of the training field, set in a circle so that one had to go around to hit them all.

He clicked his tongue and squeezed the horse’s sides, urging it to move. His legs felt limp as he trotted around the court tentatively – then, carefully, he urged the horse into a canter, gaining momentum as he circled the targets. Wind whistled in his ears and caught his hair.

Jongin let go of the reins cautiously, relying on his weight and feet to do the communicating with his mare. He couldn’t put any weight on his other foot, so standing on the stirrups was out of the question, but he could do without it.

In a blaze of movement, Jongin had drawn his arrow and fired it. It hit the plum cleanly. A burst of elation shot through him, and he turned his horse around, urging it to go faster as he drew another arrow…

They galloped past the target and Jongin fired again. The arrow landed next to the previous one. Over the whizzing in his ears, he heard the excited yelps from his fellow students, Yukhei’s voice the loudest.

He fired another one – this time hitting the bull’s eye with ease that could only come from hundreds of hours of practice with his royal teachers.

“That will do!” rang Teacher Choi’s voice.

Jongin had almost forgotten the others. He quickly reined in his horse.

Teacher Choi stood still in the centre of the court, examining Jongin with an impassive face.

Feeling rather stupid, Jongin unmounted and walked the horse back to Guanheng, who stood slouching further back.

“Here you are,” said Jongin apologetically.

The boy snatched the reins from Jongin and stomped back to the others, while Jongin walked out of the court.

Kun had watched the scene unfolding.

“I didn’t know you would be this good at archery,” he said to Jongin.

“Oh, well...” replied Jongin. “You know what they say: one can observe another person’s virtue in it. It’s the only thing gentlemen compete in.”

“And are you a gentleman, Jongin?” asked Kun.

Jongin froze. Kun was smiling kindly, but Jongin thought he detected suspicion in his expression – surprise, at the very least.

“No,” answered Jongin quickly. “That is, no more than anyone else here.”

He still felt Kun’s eyes on him, but fortunately the class finished then, with the students bowing to their teacher before filing out of the court. Groaning, wiping their brows and untying their armguards, they approached Jongin.

“Hey man, how come you didn’t tell us you were that good!” said Yukhei, slapping Jongin’s arm.

Jongin blushed, knowing that Kun was still watching him.

Guanheng walked past them with his horse. He seemed crestfallen.

“I know it’s not fun to fall off a horse. But you have to get back in the saddle,” Jongin said to him.

“Oh, is that what you did back there?” Guanheng asked sarcastically.

“No, I mean…”

“Don’t talk to me,” Guanheng snapped and strode away.

Jongin stared after him, hurt and humiliated. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come,” said Yukhei. “Let him be.”

Jongin followed the others to the stables and watched from the side as the others untacked their horses and groomed them. Guanheng wasn’t there, and neither was his horse.

This seemed to worry Kun.

“Did anyone see where Guanheng went off to?”

Yukhei and Jongin exchanged a glance.

“I’ll go and look for him,” Jongin offered.

“I’m not sure if that is a good idea,” said Kun, concerned.

“I’ve got nothing else to do,” replied Jongin, and walked out.

He didn’t need to look for Guanheng – he saw the horse feeding on the edge of the woods behind the training court, flicking its tail lazily. Jongin went around the court. Guanheng was sitting on a rock in the shade of the trees, hugging his knees.

He winced when he saw Jongin, but didn’t leave or say anything. Up close, Jongin could tell that Guanheng had cried.

“I can take your horse back to the stable,” Jongin said.

“Whatever,” Guanheng muttered, handing over the reins.

Jongin took them. For a moment he wanted to say something to Guanheng, but decided against it.

“Don’t tell the others I’ve been sitting here bawling,” Guanheng said.

“Of course not. But I don’t think they’d laugh at you,” replied Jongin.

He started off with the mare.

“I didn’t even want to be a martial artist,” Guanheng said suddenly.

Jongin stopped and turned.

“I wanted to be a dancer,” Guanheng confessed. “But my parents didn't think…” he trailed off. “Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the others.”

At last, Guanheng looked up at Jongin. The look in his eyes was timid.

“Of course I won’t,” Jongin assured him. “And you’re a really good archer, by the way.”

Guanheng gave him a grateful nod.

Jongin returned to the stables and brushed Guanheng’s horse. The others had already finished, and were chuckling as Yukhei’s horse nuzzled its nose on Yukhei’s hair.

“Did you find Guanheng?” Kun came and whispered to Jongin.

Jongin didn’t need to answer, because just then, somebody called from the door: “Come, let’s go and eat!” It was Guanheng. “I’m starving!”

Jongin felt a collective sigh of relief in the stables. Even Kun seemed impressed by whatever Jongin must have done.

The Eastern Quarters had been subjected to a thorough search first thing in the morning, and when nothing alarming had been discovered, they were again allowed to go back to their dormitory for a quick wash.

Next, they went to the dining hall, stomachs rumbling. Jongin was surprised to see the dancer boy Yongqin there, sitting at one of the tables with Sicheng and Xiaojun. They surveyed Jongin keenly still, but Jongin had more self-confidence now than in the morning. He remembered his fellow students’ applause and the exhilarating familiarity that he had felt on horseback, and that memory encased him in an impenetrable armour.

He sat down at his table next to Yukhei.

“Guess what Jongin got up to in archery?” Yukhei asked Yongqin, Xiaojun and Sicheng as soon as they had sat down.

“Something you can’t do, because otherwise you wouldn’t be that excited,” Yongqin replied with a grin.

Yukhei recounted Jongin’s exploits to them.

“It was brilliant,” he concluded, shovelling rice into his mouth.

“Teacher Choi didn’t seem too pleased, though,” remarked Kun.

“Are you kidding me, hyung?” said Yangyang. “He looked like he’d hit the jackpot. Can’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile.”

“All right,” admitted Kun, relenting a little, “But from now on you need to play by the rules if you intend to stay here, Jongin. I’m not trying to scare you, just stating a fact. People have been kicked out before for not observing rules. This is an elite academy, after all. We are the King’s men.”

Jongin flushed hot under his robes. He saw the others stick out their chests with pride.

“What he means, of course,” interpolated Yongqin, “Is that we’re a bunch of rich kids whose fathers sent us here not only to get rid of us but also for the bragging rights. ‘Oh,  _ our  _ son is training with the Hwarang – what are  _ your _ sons up to?’”

An awkward silence fell between the eight boys.

Yongqin continued, “Most of us will probably never even see the King or set foot in the Palace and will instead become your run-of-the-mill dignitaries, running a boring post somewhere in the Provinces.”

“You mustn’t say things like that, Yongqin,” said Kun forbiddingly. “It’s not easy, getting into this Academy.”

“No, Yongqin is right,” said Sicheng. “It was pretty easy, all right. All I had to do was be born in the right family.”

“Take me, for example,” said Yongqin. “I refused to get married unless my parents let me learn how to dance, so they sent me here. The hope that I might one day perform for the King was just about enough to offset the embarrassment of having a son turn down a marriage.”

Jongin shifted awkwardly. If Yongqin had known the truth… If anyone at this table had known…

“My mother wanted me to become a scholar, but my father doesn’t think I’m smart enough. So they compromised and decided to turn me into a martial artist,” said Yangyang with a shrug, as though realising how pathetic it sounded. “That, and the… well… I kind of fell in with the wrong crowd for a bit before I got here.”

“For me, it runs in the family,” Xiaojun said. “I’ve never thought I’d become anything else than a scholar. That, a poet and a musician. All three or nothing, my father always said.”

Jongin could see that for some of them, these stories hit too close to home. Kun drooped his head; Guanheng stared into distance. Jongin wondered what their stories were, but knew it was too soon to ask.

“Come on, it’s not all that bad!” said Yukhei encouragingly. “You could also be slaving away in a field somewhere.”

“What, like we did yesterday?” Sicheng commented, but Yukhei ignored him, and asked, “What about you, Jongin? What about your family?”

Jongin looked up.

“Uh… I don’t have one,” he blurted out, watching the effect of his words on his fellow students’ faces. They turned gloomy and compassionate.

“Damn… I didn’t know,” said Yukhei.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jongin,” said Xiaojun.

“It’s all right,” said Jongin, feeling guilty. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Well, one thing is for certain,” Yukhei said cheerfully. “You have a family now. And you mustn’t listen to them,” he continued, pointing at the others and then prodding the same finger in Jongin’s chest. “You’ll do great here, and most importantly, you’ll have fun doing it!”

Jongin's heart swelled with gratitude.

“Anyway, we must be off,” said Yongqin, referring to the himself, Sicheng and Xiaojun. “We have to start preparing for the…”

“Prepare for what?” asked Yangyang keenly.

A gleeful grin spread across Yongqin’s face. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“What are you on about, Yongqin?” asked Guanheng this time.

“Yeah, either tell us or get a move on,” added Yangyang.

But the dancer boy merely grinned.

“You’ll hear it from the teachers soon enough. I suppose they wanted us to get a head start…”

Yangyang tossed a chopstick at Yongqin, but the dancer ducked and dodged it expertly and walked off laughing.

On impulse, Jongin leapt to his feet and ran after the boy, knowing that this was probably his only chance of getting Yongqin alone.

Jongin caught him in the yard, earning a surprised look from the dancer boy.

“Yongqin, wait!”

“What is it?”

Jongin heard the race of his heart in his voice when he said, “Do you know any girl by the name Moonlight?”

It was now never; he would finally know.

Yongqin frowned. “No, I don’t. I know all the dancers by name. Why do you ask?”

Jongin bristled. “I just thought… I thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Well, whoever it was you saw, it wasn’t this Moonlight you speak of. And anyway, hasn’t anyone told you that mingling with girls is strictly forbidden here?”

Jongin’s face was burning. He had no retort to this.

It was almost as if Yongqin had seen his discomfort, for he added, “I hope you find her someday. Once you get out of here, I mean.”

With that, Yongqin left. Jongin stared after him in confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long between updates. I can promise you I haven't forgotten this fic. If it takes me a little longer to post, it just means that I want to give this story the time and energy it deserves.


	9. Chapter Nine

For such a major change in Jongin’s environment, he soon found out that the fundamentals of what he was taught did not differ much from his royal education at the Palace. They had to study calligraphy. Three times a week they had lessons in ethics and old classics. Having been forced to study the classics as soon as he had stopped crawling and learned to walk, Jongin was second to none in class, except perhaps Kun and Xiaojun. Jongin was unbothered by this – on the contrary, he was glad to let them shine and retain their position as top of the class.

Others struggled a lot more. One time they were given each other’s essays to read, and Yukhei got Kun’s in exchange. Yukhei got up, cleared his throat, and was about to read it out loud, when a frown came over his face.

“What does this say… _silver_?”

“That’s my name, you dunderhead! It says ‘Kun’!”

“Oh, right. You need to work on your handwriting, hyung.”

The whole class, apart from Kun, burst out laughing.

But the classes Jongin had really been looking forward to were martial arts and archery. He had been nervous about finding out where he stood skillswise compared to the others, but it turned out that he was one of the better ones, but not miles ahead from everybody else. Unlike in the Palace, there was nobody to pay attention to solely him; their teachers had to divide their attention evenly on everyone. Moreover, Jongin was now sparring against a wide array of people, not just experienced soldiers who knew they were fighting the Crown Prince of Silla.

It was much more fun training with people of the same age. Jongin loved training with Yukhei, whose physicality pushed Jongin beyond his comfort zone, but who also had a ready smile to give the others no matter how well or badly their training went. Jongin also loved to train with Yangyang, who was quick and agile and always cracking jokes when Teacher Choi’s back was turned. Jongin even loved training with Guanheng, whom Jongin tried to coax out of his shell (which Guanheng didn’t seem willing to do, but Jongin wanted to be encouraging).

By days, Jongin could say he truly enjoyed his existence. Despite the strict discipline, having to share his bedchamber and bathroom with a bunch of other boys, he had more freedom than he had ever had in his life.

Perhaps it was because he was so busy, what with practicing and getting adjusted to his new surroundings, but he could hardly believe that he had been at the Academy a mere month.

The weather had turned chilly, and the woods surrounding the archery courts had turned a flaming red and golden colour. In the mornings, the ground would be covered in glittery frost. Their breath would rise up in fog during their early morning training sessions, and their fingers would turn pink.

The stream in which they had to wash their robes became icy grey and hostile. Jongin and the other martial artists in his year did their laundry on Tuesdays, and had to spend the following hours defrosting their fingers, because otherwise they couldn’t write anything in their calligraphy class.

Jongin had lost track of days, but at home, in the Palace, they would probably be celebrating the Queen’s birthday soon. His mother’s birthday.

That day, they were very glad to leave outdoor practice and move indoors for their ethics and religion class.

They were sitting behind their desks, chatting away and comparing the bruises they had got the day before in sparring class, when the doors to the hall opened, and Teacher Choi strode in. A ripple of curiosity went through the room. Everyone sat up straight quickly and followed him with their eyes as he walked to the front of the room.

“Your class will commence shortly, but before that, I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone was listening with rapt attention.

“We have the honour of hosting a very important event at our Academy. Her Majesty’s most high-ranking officials and dignitaries from the Palace will come to see us and hold auditions for the Queen’s birthday banquet.”

The tensions in the room broke with a wave of excited murmurs: Guanheng, his eyes wide open and a huge grin on his face, was nodding. Yukhei’s mouth had dropped open and his large brown eyes became even wider. Yangyang was elbowing Guanheng in the ribs. Kun sat very still, his chin stuck out with quiet dignity and pride, and equal parts nerves.

It was the closest to what Jongin was feeling, but for all the wrong reasons – officials from the Palace, here, at the Academy? They would recognise Jongin immediately if he showed his face. He would get caught!

He almost had trouble hearing Teacher Choi’s next sentence over the pulse thudding in his ears.

“You will prepare a performance for the dignitaries, showcasing your martial arts skills.”

“Yes!” hissed Yukhei, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I’ve got plenty of ideas of what we can do.”

“The dancers will have a performance too, as will the musicians,” said Teacher Choi. “The academics will be able to sit an entrance exam earlier that very same day. If you pass, you will have the chance to become junior officials in the Palace.”

“This is your chance to prove yourselves,” Teacher Choi continued. “This is what you are here for – to perform for and serve the royal family. I urge you to keep that in mind while you prepare.”

Jongin sat there numbly, head and ears buzzing, until Teacher Choi took his leave. When the class was dismissed two hours later, the others got up excitedly, finally free to discuss their plans and ideas – but Jongin sat frozen on the floor.

“We’ve got to start practicing right away. Come on, Jongin, what do you wanna do?”

Yukhei slapped Jongin’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality.

That day at lunch, the event was all everyone talked about.

“You could’ve warned us!” Yangyang said to Yongqin when the dancers joined them. “You knew something like this was going to happen!”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Yongqin replied. “And anyway, we dancers need more time to practice than you do. You guys are going to just beat each other up, that doesn’t require any effort.”

“He’s not wrong, though,” Kun chimed in before the two factions got into a loud argument.

Jongin, however, sat still, barely touching his food. He was lightheaded with hunger, but his mouth refused to cooperate.

Their practice began in earnest the following day. They were to display their skills in archery, both regular and mounted, hand-to-hand combat and swordfighting. Unlike his friends, Jongin wasn’t worried about failure – on the contrary, he was concerned about performing too well. He almost wished that his ankle was still injured so that he wouldn’t be able to participate in the audition, and a part of him considered getting injured for real – but if he did that, there would be no use for him at the Academy.

The other guys – Yukhei, Guanheng and Yangyang – were very much enjoying themselves, even when gritting their teeth.

Everywhere Jongin went, students were talking about the coming event, and it didn’t ease Jongin’s mind one bit. There was an upside to all this, though, one which Jongin held onto for dear life: students of all disciplines would attend the audition. It would stand to reason that the mysterious dancer girl would be there too.

The last time Jongin had talked to Yongqin, Yongqin had told him that there was no such person as Moonlight at the Academy – but Jongin’s eyes hadn’t betrayed him that night. He wouldn’t admit defeat until he knew for certain.

That was the sole reason why he was looking forward to the audition night.

* * *

The days grew chillier still, and the nights and mornings even more so. The air smelled of smoke and damp leaves in the morning when Jongin departed for their extra classes.

The Academy had been tidied up to perfection: trees had been trimmed, any leaves in the courtyards swept away.

“How are you feeling?” Yukhei asked the three of them that morning when they joined the others for breakfast.

“As long as I don’t have to do mounted archery,” Guanheng mumbled. He still hadn’t gotten over his fear of horses from his last fall, and he was lucky to hit the target, nevermind the bull’s eye. Nobody wanted to say it aloud, but having him do it would embarrass every one of them.

“I think Jongin should do it,” Kun chimed in, appearing out of nowhere with his books.

“Do you even know what we’re talking about, hyung?” Yangyang asked.

“I saw you that one time, Jongin. We all need to put our best foot forward,” Kun said.

“What does that mean in your case, hyung?” Guanheng asked.

“Yeah – are you going to talk the ministers to death?” Yangyang quipped, and they high-fived over the table.

Kun groaned. “You know perfectly well that I’m going to sit an exam earlier that day and that is how they will judge me. Do you have any idea how hard…”

“He’s got a point,” Yukhei interpolated.

“What?”

He turned his eyes to Jongin. “Maybe we should have Jongin do mounted archery and sit out something else. There’s no rule that that can’t be done.”

Jongin tensed up.

Guanheng looked pleadingly at him.

“But I… on my own?” Jongin stammered.

“You can totally do it, hyung!” Yangyang said. “If you can’t, who else?”

That was the problem, Jongin thought grimly. How he wished he could tell them. He would stick out like a sore thumb if he performed well. If he didn’t, he would drag everybody down.

“I’ll think about it,” he answered.

“There’s no time,” Guanheng replied. “The audition is next week. I’ll have to know if I can focus on the other things.”

Jongin heaved a deep sigh. He might regret his decision, come the audition.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Guanheng leapt up from the floor and gave Jongin a crushing hug, while Yangyang and Yukhei whooped.

“There’s no way we can fail now!”

Jongin was envious of how easy the others had it, when all they had to worry about was performing well.

“Wish we knew what the dancers are going to do. If they’re going to outshine us,” muttered Guanheng.

“I tried sneaking a look into their digs one time,” Yangyang said.

“And?” asked Guanheng.

Yangyang grimaced. “They didn’t like it. Got pelted with apples.”

“So that was why you had a black eye,” Kun said knowingly. “I thought you had got it from sparring, but apparently it was just Yongqin or Sicheng throwing a fruit at you.”

“Oh, shut up, hyung,” Yangyang muttered, embarrassed.

* * *

Finally, the day of the audition came. Even if it weren’t for the audition, Jongin would have recognised the solemnity of the day at once as he opened his eyes that morning. The deepest autumn, fog, golden sunlight through yellowing leaves. His mother’s birthday. He had to spend the morning alone, and fortunately the others didn’t ask him why, as they were all too preoccupied with their own nerves and the coming test.

The day passed in a haze: both very slowly and fast. The Academy was in a palpable state of excitement. Everywhere Jongin went, he could hear nervous bursts of laughter, stern faces, flushed cheeks, prim uniforms and postures. The Academy was both quieter and busier than he had ever seen.

The event was to commence soon after dinner, when the sun went down in the horizon. A large orange moon had climbed above treetops. A hunter’s moon. Jongin registered it numbly as he trailed after Yukhei, Guanheng and Yangyang into one of the pavilions to get dressed.

Jongin had just put on his blue silk uniform when he heard music in the distance – drums. The sound sent a jolt of nerves through his body. Unable to wait and stay put, he slipped out of the pavilion and followed the sound to the largest courtyard at the Academy.

He tiptoed along the wall and peered into the courtyard. The drone of chatter and murmurs told him that the dignitaries were already there. Torches and lanterns had been lit, their flicker illuminating the magnificent robes, headdresses and solemn faces. Jongin’s stomach sank at the thought – the vast courtyard was full, each and every one of the faces observing the empty stage in the centre of the court.

Jongin gripped the wall with sweaty palms and wished he could have been just about anywhere else right then. He knew he was done for: they would recognise Jongin – even if Jongin could somehow mask his face, his technique would give him away. He knew he couldn’t go on; he couldn’t set foot on that stage. Jongin fought back the urge to retch.

With a snakelike squirming in his gut, Jongin stumbled back to the others.

“Where on earth have you been?” Guanheng accosted him as soon as he returned.

“I can’t do this,” Jongin muttered.

Guanheng stared at him blankly. “Of course you can! I’ve seen you in class. I know what you’re capable of.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jongin muttered, wishing he could tell the others – the burden of his secret was bearing down on him so hard that it could have crushed him.

“Then what is it?”

Jongin considered his options – he wanted to offload his fears onto Guanheng, but a tiny voice in the back of his head told him not to. This was neither the time nor place.

“It’s because…” Jongin began, “Some people are looking for me.”

“Looking for you?” repeated Guanheng, frowning.

“Yes. I… I haven’t been completely honest,” Jongin said.

“What do you mean?” Guanheng asked, looking a little alarmed.

“I ran away from home, all right?” Jongin snapped, the glib lie rolling off his tongue.

The expression on Guanheng’s face turned from nervous to relieved, compassionate, even.

“Oh… You should’ve told us!”

“I know, I know, it’s just…”

“Come, it’s our turn soon. What’s wrong, Jongin?” Yukhei had returned.

“He’s got the wind up,” Guanheng explained to Yukhei.

“It’s all right, Jongin! Just do your best,” Yukhei said.

“No, it’s not that…”

But Jongin fell silent as the doors to the pavilion opened and Teacher Choi stepped in. If Jongin hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Teacher Choi looked a little nervous on their behalf.

“It’s time. You know the order: swordfighting, hand-to-hand combat, archery. I will go and join the ministers now. Best of luck to all of you, though I don’t think you will be needing it.”

“Yes, _seonsaengnim_ ,” they murmured back.

Teacher Choi departed. Yukhei, Yangyang and Guanheng turned towards the stage, looking nervous and tense. There was nothing for it now.

Jongin waited in the shadows as the others took the stage. The silence that had fallen was deafening. Jongin’s head was filled with blank buzzing. Then he heard the thuds and bounds of footsteps, the flapping of sleeves as two arms struck one another; the sharp breaths and grunts of his fellow students as they started sparring. He knew the choreography by heart, remembered each block and blow that those grunts corresponded to. He couldn’t really tell how long it went on – it seemed very long and very short in equal measure. After that, there would be archery – and then, Jongin’s turn with mounted archery.

It was all Jongin could do to keep himself from turning on his heel and running away from the Academy. He couldn’t see how he could keep his identity a secret when the entire kingdom must have been on the lookout for him…

Jongin heard the applause, distant and thin. One more number to go.

The crowd fell silent as Guanheng took the stage. Each round of applause and gasp of awe told Jongin that Guanheng had hit the bull’s eye.

He came out of his reverie when his attendant brought him his horse – or Guanheng’s horse, to be exact. Jongin gripped the reins with sweaty palms, willing himself to breathe.

He heard the applause, which meant that Guanheng had finished his performance and it was Jongin’s turn. His knees buckling, he climbed on his horse and allowed himself to be walked out of the shadows and into the courtyard. The walk felt immensely long. Suddenly, he could feel the dozens of eyes on him. Any minute now, Jongin expected someone to stand up and point at him, shouting, “It’s the Crown Prince!”

In the centre of the courtyard rose three archery targets made of straw. They swam in and out of Jongin’s vision strangely. He knew what he had to do. He knew he could do it, for he had done it hundreds of times – he also knew that the longer he lingered in the court, the likelier it was that somebody recognised him.

And so Jongin urged his horse to canter, drew an arrow and shot it. Not the cleanest hit, but it didn’t matter. The horse circled the targets, and Jongin let go of the reins again, drawing the second arrow.

Another hit. And finally the third.

There was an audible gasp among the spectators as the third arrow, too, found its mark.

Nevertheless, all that mattered to Jongin was that he was now free to go. He grabbed the reins again, slowed the horse to trot, and rode out of the courtyard.

As soon as he was out of sight, he jumped off the saddle, legs shaking and fingers trembling.

“Well done, Jongin!” Yukhei caught him and stopped him from collapsing. The other three boys were waiting for him, having obviously watched his performance.

He had shown the ministers his face and his skills, but at least it was over now. It hadn’t even been his best performance. Lots of people in Silla could do what he had just done. He comforted himself with that thought.

“I knew you could do it!” echoed Guanheng, whose face was glowing.

They were whisked away almost at once to make way for the next wave of students, and Jongin didn’t mind.

Only, it was now that Jongin’s brain was working freely again that he remembered what he was supposed to do.

“I’ll catch up with you,” he said to the others and broke away from the group.

He snuck around the courtyard wall and found himself a spot near the back, far away from the audience, half-hidden by a pillar.

The stage was illuminated by torches and lanterns. The faces of ministers and the audience were shadowed by the night. Jongin knew he ought to be frightened by his mother’s men being so close, but something about the night kept drawing him in. He marvelled at the spirit in the air; the laughter, smell of rice wine and smoke.

All of a sudden, the night was pierced by the sound of drums. A sharp silence fell among the spectators.

Two figures in robes the colour of deep blood-red had appeared on the stage. Behind them were two drums. For a moment, during which Jongin held his breath, they stood quite still - two of them the same height and build. And when they began to move, it was their perfect harmony that made Jongin catch his breath and unable to take his eyes off of the sight.

He remembered the morning after the attacks, witnessing Yongqin dancing on the small wooden stage, and knew now that he had seen the first iteration of this performance then. But it had been nothing like this. The drumming was fiercer; the two dancers moved in perfect unison, as though one, their deep crimson robes billowing the same way. The drumming they did while dancing was deafening and enthralling, putting Jongin into a trance of some kind.

He moved closer for a better view, drawn into the scene like a traveler to firelight. He caught sight of Yongqin’s face – the determination and subdued pleasure of having an audience and commanding it with every gesture.

And then they swirled around once more, showing their faces, and light from the lanterns caught the other dancer…

“Moonlight!”

The gasp that fell from Jongin’s lips was drowned in the tumult.

He was sure he hadn’t imagined it – it was the girl, that girl from the Peach Garden, that night of the full moon and roaming wild.

She looked like something out of a dream, or a story Jongin had read in romantic fiction.

Funny, how Jongin had imagined the other dancer to be a boy too. Then again, Yongqin wasn’t the tallest of guys, so why not…

As soon as it had begun, their performance came to an end.

Jongin was deaf and blind to the applause around him. The beat of his heart was in his throat as he inched closer to the stage, past the lesser officials and teachers. His feet carried him as though in a fog.

“Jongin! Where do you think you’re going!”

A steely hand had seized Jongin’s arm. He turned to meet Junmyeon’s eyes.

“These are high-ranking officials from the Palace. How dare you disturb them?” Junmyeon hissed.

Jongin looked around. Some of the men closest to them had turned around, eyeing Jongin with distaste and suspicion.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise...” Jongin mumbled.

“Quickly now, let’s go before you cause a scene,” whispered Junmyeon, and hurtled him away from the light, music and people, out onto the dark paths leading away from the courtyard.

Jongin fumbled in the dark, eyes not accustomed to it, and his ears ringing from the sound of drums.

“What did you think you were doing?” Junmyeon asked.

“I… I wasn’t,” Jongin stammered, not even properly listening to his hyung.

“That much is obvious. Be glad I’m not reporting you to our teachers.”

Instead, Junmyeon walked Jongin back to the martial artists’ dressing room. Jongin vaguely heard the whoops of celebration coming from inside, and it took him a second to recall what they were celebrating.

“But let this be the last time I have to warn you, all right?” Junmyeon said.

“Yes, all right,” Jongin replied quickly.

Then the door opened, and he was greeted by the sounds of his three friends celebrating, Yukhei’s booming voice the loudest.

“Did you guys see…” Jongin tried to catch their attention, but it was useless. Of course they hadn’t seen the performance, and even if they had, what did they care?

Then it occurred to Jongin.

He raced out of the pavilion, round the wall surrounding the courtyard, until he saw another group of students, wearing the dancers’ robes. He spotted Sicheng’s tall figure among the students, and then –

“Yongqin!”

The dancer boy turned in the direction of Jongin’s voice. His face was glowing with sweat and exhilaration.

“Yes? Are you here to compliment me on my dancing?”

“What? Oh, yeah, it was great – but where’s the girl you danced with?” Jongin asked breathlessly.

Yongqin frowned. “Girl?”

“Yes! It’s just that… I know her from somewhere.”

A strange expression came over Yongqin’s face. “No, you don’t.”

“I do! Can you take me to her, please?” Jongin said, exasperated.

“I’m not sure if you want me to do that,” Yongqin answered slowly.

Jongin groaned. “Just do as I ask, please!”

Yongqin sighed deeply. “All right. But there’s something I have to tell you first.”


	10. Chapter Ten

The servants were cleaning up the empty courtyard. They moved with weariness; sweat had seeped through their clothes at their pits and backs.

Taemin watched them from a distance as they laboured in the now-deserted court. The silence was a pleasant contrast to all the excitement that had preceded it.

“Let me help you,” Taemin said finally to the servants, having grown tired of sitting still.

“Are you sure?” asked one of the servants, who had picked up a drum.

“Yes,” Taemin said and smiled. “I can clear the stage. You can go to bed.”

“Well, if you are sure,” said the man and bowed.

The servants took their leave, and Taemin picked up a broom to sweep the stage.

His muscles were shaking slightly, and his knees were buckling from a full day of dancing. Still, the autumn night was young and calm. Voices were sounding from the direction of the dormitories; crickets were chirping in the shrubbery; birds were nesting in trees and rooftops. The small stream coursing through the grounds lapped gently nearby.

He was almost done cleaning when he heard a creak, which he associated with the wooden pathway arched over the stream behind the stage. He turned towards the sound.

A man stood there; a young man, in a handsome robe. Not one of us, Taemin thought. One of the martial arts students.

He stood there rooted to the spot, as though startled by Taemin.

But for whatever reason, Taemin did not feel uneasy under his stare – even if this young man had a very penetrating set of eyes, dark and tigerish. Taemin nodded – but instead of responding in kind, the man jolted, as though he’d been in a deep reverie and had only just realised that Taemin could see him too.

“Evening,” Taemin said. “Are you looking for something?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Not anymore.”

Taemin was taken aback by the man’s words. He put down the broom and waited with rapt attention for the man’s next move.

“Moonlight.”

Something came alive in Taemin with that name and voice.

He rummaged in his memory for the right face; all those mouths that he had kissed, in the smell of booze, smoke and sickly sweet perfume.

“You told me to come and find you,” said the man carefully.

And now Taemin knew.

And as soon as he knew, his heart froze around the edges. For he was not Moonlight; he was Taemin.

He remembered this man. He had found him handsome the night they first met, and he’d been flattered by the interest; but Taemin was still a man, and he had learned by now that he was not what they wanted.

All those handsome young men had fallen in love with a girl, and Taemin could have never lived up to the person in their heads. But fortunately the morning had always dawned, eradicating memories and nightly desires, and none of those men had ever returned.

No other man had ever come and looked for him; this little game of his had always been without consequence, until now. Did this man know?

Taemin was afraid to say or do anything, though he knew he had to, to let this stranger off the hook…

Taemin cleared his throat, aware of the masculine note creeping through. He wondered whether to put on a fake voice or not.

“What… what was your name again?” he said cautiously. “Jongin?”

A flash of relief passed the man’s face.

“You remember,” he said, his voice cracking from excitement. He was about to step closer, but then he caught himself.

Taemin came down from the stage and inched closer to where the wooden bridge began. He knew one of them had to make the move, and somehow it would be better if it were him and not Jongin.

Jongin?

Who was this young man, who stood before him in that martial artists’ robe after hours?

Jongin, who would have recognised his Moonlight anywhere, even after just one meeting. And here she was, his Moonlight – in a blue dress, her hair flowing free but for her headband. But then Jongin saw the Adam’s apple in her neck, saw the masculinity in her facial features, the broad shoulders in that outfit of hers…

And Jongin looked away, as though scorched…

“Are you… you’re Moonlight, aren’t you?”

Taemin flinched, his beautiful face marred with shame and pain.

“I am, and… I am not,” he replied finally, his voice becoming lower with each syllable. “My real name is Taemin.”

“Taemin,” repeated Jongin slowly, carefully. 

“You’re a boy.”

“I am,” Taemin responded shyly. “Does it bother you?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Taemin’s heart did a wild flip, and he didn’t know that Jongin felt exactly the same.

“I, uh… Can I walk you to your quarters?” Jongin asked him.

Taemin’s face brightened. The night was half-cloudy, and the moon draped in them, but Jongin needed no moon just then.

“Yes,” Taemin said, and they both smiled.

They set off along one of the winding paths towards the dancers’ quarters. A deep peaceful silence had settled over the Academy after hours of celebration. Cicadas were singing in the trees, and the night air was balmy – not too warm or cold. It was as if the stars above them had been lit just for them.

Jongin dared hardly to breathe. Once or twice, Taemin’s hand brushed his as they walked, and each time it made Jongin dizzy.

“I didn’t know you were a student here,” Taemin said after a while.

“Oh? Well… Truth be told, I wasn’t,” Jongin admitted. “At least, not until that night I met you.”

Taemin frowned. “So you joined… just for me?”

“Yes. I mean, not just for you. I… I wasn’t very happy at home.”

Taemin mused on these facts. He seemed perplexed and touched at the same time.

“What is it about your home that you didn’t like?” he asked.

“Oh, well…” Jongin hesitated, feeling awkward all of a sudden, and wishing that he hadn’t mentioned his family to Taemin.

“It’s all right, you don’t have to tell me,” Taemin said, sensing Jongin’s discomfort. “I’m just going to pretend that you came here all for me.”

Jongin gave a relieved chuckle.

Upon entering an ornamental path that was surrounded by whispering trees, they came to a halt, as though to get a better look at each other. Jongin found it a little difficult to look Taemin in the eye, and Taemin seemed to feel the same. They were both thinking the same thing.

“My search would have probably been easier if I’d known to look for a boy,” Jongin muttered, grinning sheepishly.

Taemin laughed shyly.

“Why do you pretend to be a girl?” Jongin asked.

“Oh…” Taemin began, shrugging. His cheeks reddened. “I guess it’s because… that way I can display my skills, my beauty, my charm – freely, without being questioned. It’s just… pure adoration. The more I dance at the Peach Garden, the more I need to. It’s freedom. I can do anything. Become anything. Have you ever wondered what it feels like?”

Jongin shifted awkwardly, but fortunately Taemin didn’t expect an answer.

“Point taken,” Jongin replied. He realised his heart was twanging in his chest as he asked, “So, um… have you had lots of… admirers then?”

Taemin dropped his gaze, looking self-conscious. “No, not really. That is… no one that would still want me in the morning.”

They were silent for a moment as Jongin considered Taemin’s words. He felt a terrible wave of pity and love for this boy, but didn’t know how to express it. He didn’t dare to.

“I had been thinking about you, too,” Taemin said.

“You were?” Jongin asked, and a tingle ran down his spine.

Taemin smiled again. He had obviously noticed the power of his words. “You were easily the most handsome man I’d ever met at the Peach Garden.”

This time, it wasn’t just Jongin’s face that was bruning; he was hot all over.

Taemin stepped closer, reached out to touch Jongin’s face. Briefly, Jongin wondered again what Taemin would have done if he had known… if he’d know that he was touching the Crown Prince of Silla; what a crime he was committing.

Jongin would never tell him the truth. He made up his mind there and then.

He was close enough to smell Taemin’s scent. When he breathed it in, it was like the ground falling off him. Jongin had never felt more real, more alive. He took in the boy’s features, revelling in them, revelling in the fact that Taemin, too, was real. He knew, with the intuitive wisdom of his body, that this boy was his.

Jongin reached out and touched him back – a clumsy, clueless hand looking for a safe place to land. It made for the boy’s round cheeks, but before it could brush against it, Jongin pulled his hand away, as though scorched.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin choked out, dropping his hand, flustered. “I didn’t mean to, I was just…”

“Don’t apologise.”

Taemin leaned forward, his gaze on Jongin’s mouth...

Just then, they heard the scrape of footsteps further down the path and jumped apart quickly.

It was one of the older students from the dancers’ quarters, with high cheekbones and shrewd feline eyes.

“Taemin-ah! You just had to wander off again, didn’t you? What took you so long?”

“Nothing, Kibum hyung!” Taemin lied quickly, which was obviously useless, as Kibum saw Jongin and could immediately put two and two together.

They both waited for Kibum’s reaction with bated breaths. Jongin really wasn’t in the mood to cross swords with another hyung that night, not after being told off by Junmyeon.

Kibum was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Come, Taemin. Let’s not keep the others awake.” There was no heat in his voice; if anything, it had softened slightly. He was still watching Jongin keenly, but it was curiosity more than suspicion. Maybe even longing, though Jongin would never know why.

“You too,” Kibum said. “I’m sure they’re waiting for you in your quarters.”

“Yes. I will go right away. Goodnight, hyung,” Jongin said, with one last glance at Taemin, who smiled back at him.

“Will I see you again?” Jongin whispered to him quickly.

“Sooner than you think, hopefully,” Taemin whispered back.

Jongin watched Taemin and Kibum out of sight before he turned around. He felt at peace with the world, looking up at the belt of stars in the dark sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first version of this chapter back in 2017. I can't believe I finally get to share it with you guys.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Jongin wouldn’t have minded going straight to bed – it would have given him a chance to be alone with his thoughts; to cherish the fresh memory of Taemin, and the satisfaction of having finally found him.

But Jongin had barely entered the Eastern Quarters when Yangyang sprang up to him, appearing out of nowhere.

“Come! Chanyeol and Baekhyun hyungs have smuggled in some rice wine!”

Indeed, when they arrived in the Eastern Quarters, there was still light in the bedroom windows.

“We’ve got to keep quiet, the others are sleeping,” Yangyang hissed as they snuck into their house.

But as soon as they opened the bedchamber door, there was an explosion of noise and light. All the lanterns were lit, Chanyeol was plucking a  _ gayageum _ to the best of his abilities (surprisingly well, Jongin thought), and Baekhyun was pouring drinks and sticking cups of rice wine into their hands.

They drank and Yukhei, Guanheng and Yangyang recounted their performance, giving increasingly drunk demonstrations of the moves.

Jongin stayed back; he was content to just observe, having no experience of partying with friends. Even during his nights at the Peach Garden, he had been used to drinking on his own.

“You know what, guys?” Yukhei got up ceremoniously. “It’s getting kind of hot in here!”

“It’s because somebody’s bed is on fire!” Guanheng screamed.

As it happened, Yukhei had knocked over a lantern and the bed next to it had caught on fire.

“Shit!”

They all sprang into action, pouring water from the water basins on it.

“There goes somebody’s bed,” Guanheng muttered. “As long as it wasn’t mine.”

“Anyway!” Yukhei continued, unfazed. “How about we go and get some fresh air?”

“We have to,” Baekhyun said, coughing from the smoke.

“I made an invitation to some friends,” said Yukhei. “I told them to be at the river by midnight.”

“We’d better get going then!” said Yangyang.

They got up, put out the candles, and snuck outside. Jongin had butterflies in his stomach. ‘Friends’, Yukhei had said – who could that mean?

“Anyone wanna go and make sure the coast is clear?” Baekhyun whispered as they left the compound.

Yangyang volunteered. He tiptoed across the dark grounds to the covered path some yards away and vanished among the trees. When he came back, he gave them the thumbs-up.

The remaining five of them snuck across the grounds and down the path. They stumbled on the winding track a bit more than they would have normally, thanks to the rice wine, and seemed to also find it disproportionally funny – but fortunately nobody was prowling the Academy that night in search of rogue students.

Finally, they came out of the shade of trees and into a clearing through which the river ran. It was quiet and dark.

“It’s us!” Yukhei hissed.

Suddenly the riverbank came to life – people emerged from behind trees and rocks, and lanterns were lit. They gave the riverside a beautiful golden glow.

“You gave us quite a fright!” It was Kun who spoke.

“To be fair, it’s not like any of the teachers would have made that much noise,” said Xiaojun, who had been hiding next to Kun behind a tree. “Looks like you’ve started the party early.”

“We did – courtesy of Chanyeol and Baekhyun hyungs! But don’t worry, we saved some for you,” Yukhei said.

Kun shook his head, but accepted a sip from the waterskin Yukhei offered him.

Xiaojun had brought a  _ bipa _ with him, and he sat down under the tree to pluck it quietly.

“Where are the dancers?” Guanheng asked.

“They haven’t shown,” Kun said.

“Well, we can’t let that bother us,” replied Yangyang. “Last to the river will clean the stables tomorrow!”

He sprang down the riverbank and into the dark stream.

“God, it’s cold!” he screamed from the water.

“Keep your voice down!” Kun warned him, just as Yukhei raced past him, laughing loudly.

His laughter turned into shivers once he joined Yangyang.

“You weren’t kidding, Yangyang! I’m freezing! Hey, Guanheng and Jongin!”

“No way,” Jongin retorted, but Guanheng seized his hand and dragged him along to the stream.

“I’m not going in!” he said to Guanheng.

“Suit yourself!” Guanheng replied, and jumped into the water.

Jongin heaved a sigh of relief, but it was premature, because the three guys started splashing water at him. Before Jongin could react, he was just about as soaked as the others.

“I won’t forget this!” he yelled, half-laughing.

“Ooh, I’m terrified!” Yangyang yelled back.

Just then, Jongin heard laughter from behind him. He looked up the riverbank, and saw the group of laughing young men from the dancers’ quarters, Yongqin’s voice being the loudest.

Next to Yongqin, however, stood a person who was completely quiet. His gentle eyes were on Jongin, and his mouth turned into a smile when Jongin noticed him.

As though in a dream, Jongin walked up the bank to him, past all the revelling students. He remarked Yongqin’s knowing grin and Sicheng watching Jongin keenly, but Jongin didn’t mind.

“Hey,” Jongin greeted Taemin, a little breathless.

“Was the water cold?” Taemin asked.

“Oh, yeah, a bit. But it was nice.”

“Come, Sicheng. Let’s leave them to their riveting conversation,” said Yongqin very loudly and very meaningfully.

The two dancers walked away, and Taemin and Jongin grinned at each other stupidly.

“Did you know they were going to have a party?” Jongin asked.

“Of course. Your lot are the worst offenders when it comes to that. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to participate until...”

Jongin knew what he meant, and his belly did a little flip.

They lapsed into silence and watched their fellow students’ hijinks. Yukhei, Yangyang and Guanheng had climbed out of the river and were stripping down to their underwear. Kun was trying to help them warm up by building a small fire, although he kept moaning, “Someone will see the smoke and then we’ll get caught.”

Xiaojun was still playing music, a faster song this time. Yongqin and Sicheng were doing a greatly exaggerated rendition of the dance they had performed for the ministers and officials, while Chanyeol and Baekhyun were trying to copy them, although they were so drunk by now that they kept falling over.

“Want to go for a walk?” Taemin suggested to Jongin after a minute.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” Jongin replied. His throat seemed dry all of a sudden.

Nobody saw them slip away. They set off along the riverside, leaving the glow of the party behind and letting the night swallow them.

Jongin cleared his throat. “You danced beautifully today. As always.”

“You saw me?”

“I did.”

“Thank you,” Taemin replied, and blushed a little.

He looked even lovelier that way. It may have been because of Taemin blushing, or the fact that Jongin was drenched, but he shivered.

“You must be cold,” Taemin said.

“Oh, well… Yeah, I am a bit,” Jongin admitted.

Taemin stopped in his tracks. He turned to Jongin.

“You should take off your robes. They’re soaked through.”

“I…” The rest of the sentence died on Jongin’s tongue as Taemin’s hands went to the belt around his waist and undid it. Next, Taemin pushed the outer coat off Jongin’s shoulders, slowly, tentatively – waiting for Jongin’s reaction.

Jongin stayed dead still, hardly daring to breathe. He just kept thinking, ‘Please don’t stop.’

Soon, Jongin was down to his undergarments.

“Better?” Taemin asked.

Jongin didn’t trust himself to speak.

They walked further down the stream, but it wasn’t the pleasant stroll anymore. Taemin was leading the way, and he walked with purpose. Soon, there was a bend in the river, and the path came to an end. Tall trees whispered in the night before them. The moon shone down between the branches.

“The dancers’ quarters are beyond those trees,” Taemin said, by way of explanation. “I like to come here sometimes, when I want to be alone.”

He sat down in the fragrant grass, and Jongin followed.

After a minute, Taemin said, “What do you think of me now? Now that I’m not wearing a girl’s clothes anymore?”

Jongin hesitated – dared he speak his mind?

“I don’t care what you wear. What’s underneath is what matters.”

Taemin blinked at him, and for a moment Jongin worried he had said too much, that he had been impertinent – but then Taemin burst out laughing.

“Is that so?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that…”

“No, you’re right.”

Suddenly the air seemed taut. Jongin was afraid to move, lest he got a shock.

Taemin opened his mouth, but it was a little while before the words came out. “Would you… would you like to see it? What I look like – underneath it?”

Jongin felt short of breath all of a sudden. Taemin took Jongin’s hand and slowly brought it to his lapels. Heart racing madly in his chest, Jongin took the cue. He began to undress Taemin, just as Taemin had undressed him a moment ago.

Upon revealing a slip of skin at Taemin’s collarbone, Jongin leaned down to kiss it. Taemin sighed from his touch, and threw his head back.

Jongin kissed his way up to Taemin’s mouth while his fingers worked on both their clothes. Taemin answered his kiss, and Jongin felt unreal – this couldn’t be happening; he couldn’t be this lucky.

Their robes fell off their skin and to the ground, and Taemin lay down on them, pulling Jongin on top of him. Taemin’s hand found its way into Jongin’s trousers, and Jongin did the same to Taemin.

It was Jongin who gasped first; and as he did do, Taemin caught his moans with his mouth.

They lay there in the grass afterwards, watching the moon and the stars glimmering behind the treetops, and Jongin was in love with the world as much as he was with the boy next to him.

Taemin turned to him and caressed his face.

“There’s just something so different about you, Jongin,” he said.

Jongin flinched. He studied Taemin’s expression closely, for any sign that Taemin might suspect, or know… But then Jongin gave himself a mental shake. Of course Taemin didn’t know. The royalty did not mingle with the common folk – not even sons of noble families, like Taemin. It was like asking the clouds to come down to earth.

“Really?” Jongin said, trying to laugh it off. “I could say the same about you.”

Taemin’s smile became a little forced. “It’s just… the way you talk. The way you behave.”

“How do I behave? You didn’t even know about my being here until tonight,” Jongin retorted.

Taemin bristled. “Fair enough. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Jongin immediately wanted to apologise to him, but he couldn’t; this was his secret to bear.

He did not want to think about it now – the fact that he was the Crown Prince of this beautiful kingdom, and that what had just happened should never have happened; that if anybody found out, Taemin would be executed.

Jongin tried to recall the stories from his history classes: stories of King Beopheung, who had abdicated the throne to become a monk; of the monk Wonhyo, who had a son with a princess.

It wasn’t unheard of; but even then, Jongin didn’t know how. He had no life outside of Hwarang – no home, no identity, nothing.

But at least Jongin was allowed this one dream; this one moment in time.

This had been the best day of Jongin’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more taekai for you all ^^ This is about as x-rated as it's going to get, lol


	12. Chapter Twelve

Since the dancers’ quarters were not far from where they were, Jongin and Taemin parted ways here.

“Will I see you again tomorrow?” Jongin asked.

“Perhaps not tomorrow – but as soon as we can,” Taemin replied. “Don’t forget, we’re here to train.”

With one last smile for Jongin, Taemin disappeared behind the corner.

With Taemin out of sight, Jongin started back to where their friends were, hoping that they would still be there and that they hadn’t noticed Jongin and Taemin missing.

Jongin was certain that he had followed the right path, the one running along the river – but he didn’t hear any voices; he didn’t see any lights.

And when he came out of the bushes and into the clearing, there was no mistaking the fact – the others had left already. He saw the glowing embers of the fire that Kun had built. Somebody had forgotten his belt on the ground.

Nervous, Jongin set off along the path by which they had come here, hoping that he could find his way back to his quarters despite the dark.

“There he is.”

Jongin had barely registered the voice when two figures appeared in front of him. One of them was Junmyeon, and the other was one of the younger students who would stand guard outside Eastern Quarters – Taeyong.

Jongin’s heart sank.

“Come with me, Jongin,” Junmyeon said. His face was grave. He nodded to Taeyong, who gave an apologetic shrug to Jongin, and they left.

Jongin was sick with nerves. He had no idea where he was being taken. How would he explain his nightly wanderings? Why hadn’t the others waited for him, or warned him?

Maybe they would have if he hadn’t gone with Taemin.

Jongin wiped away the tears that had welled past his eyes. Now was not the time. He couldn’t break down now.

The massive red building, which Jongin had seen on his first day at the Academy, appeared behind the trees, and now Jongin knew: he was being taken to see Teacher Choi.

Junmyeon took him past the sentries and into the winding depths of the building. They arrived at the heavy wooden door, and Junmyeon said, “I brought him,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

“Thank you. You may go back to bed, Junmyeon,” a voice answered through the door.

Junmyeon opened the doors for Jongin, who entered and got a real shock – Teacher Choi was sitting inside, as expected. But so were his fellow students, lined up and heads drooping – Sicheng and Yongqin, Xiaojun and Kun; and Yukhei, Yangyang and Guanheng in dripping wet clothes.

Having recovered from the immediate shock, Jongin stepped in and bowed his head.

“I think you know why you are here, Kim Jongin,” Teacher Choi said.

Jongin made the tiniest nod. He was utterly ashamed; worried, too. What would the punishment for forbidden activities such as this be?

“The eight of you were out of your bedchambers in the dead of the night, drinking. Not only that, but the rice wine you were drinking was smuggled into the Academy. Who gave it to you?”

Jongin frowned, and snuck a glance at the boys next to him. Surely they would have told Teacher Choi that it was Chanyeol and Baekhyun?

Come to think of it, those two weren’t here – had they managed to escape?

“I don’t know,  _ seonsaengnim _ .”

Teacher Choi sighed ever so quietly, but it was enough to send a ripple of fear through the air.

“You all know what you are here for – to become the nation’s finest martial artists, musicians, dancers and academics. How do you propose to achieve those goals when you cannot even obey the simplest orders?”

The shame in the room was palpable. Jongin heard someone sniffle quietly.

“The Hwarang is based on integrity and trust. You have not been worthy of that trust. I know that you know who smuggled that rice wine into the Academy, but refuse to tell me,” Teacher Choi continued. “I am going to give all of you one more chance – but that will be your last. That includes you, Jongin. I have seen what you all are capable of, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. However, a martial artist’s duty is to obey. If you cannot do that, the Hwarang has no further use for you.”

“Any rule-breaking from this moment onward will result in your immediate expulsion. You all know what is at stake: a taint like that would ruin your record. You would never be accepted into the Palace, or the Ministry. Understood?”

“Yes,  _ seonsaengnim _ ,” the boys muttered, heads bowed.

“You are dismissed. Go back to your dormitories. No dawdling. You will be informed of your punishments tomorrow.”

The eight of them backed out of the room.

Once out in the night, nobody spoke. They didn’t even dare to look at each other; the shame was so heavy. Jongin could feel the tension rippling between them – they wanted someone to blame.

“Clever idea, Yukhei,” Kun muttered. “Getting us almost expelled.”

The tall man drooped his head.

“And which one of you was supposed to keep watch?” Yongqin snapped.

“That’s just it, nobody _ was _ keeping watch!” replied Guanheng. “You’d think we wouldn’t make that mistake anymore…”

Jongin was too tired to argue; he just wanted to collapse in his bed.

The rooftops of the Eastern Quarters had already come into view, when the silence before them was suddenly broken by fragments of conversation.

“Shush!”

Jongin stopped dead and raised his hand.

“What is it, Jongin?” Yukhei asked.

“I think I heard something,” whispered Jongin, holding his breath.

They all fell silent. And true enough – the voices grew louder as the speakers approached.

“I don’t think we should be seen,” Jongin whispered.

His seven companions seemed to agree. They all dived out of sight, hiding behind the bushes.

The voices and inflections were strange – they seemed to belong to elderly men, and sounded out of place at the Academy. Jongin was more likely to associate them with the Palace.

And he was right: soon, two distinguished-looking men, dressed like ministers from the Palace, came down the path. They had probably elected to stay the night at the Academy before heading back to town in the morning.

“What did you think? Can we bring the students in?” said one of them.

“Frankly, I do not know why we bother to keep up appearances in a time like this,” answered the other.

“Well, for that very reason. It’s better if nobody knows how bad things are in the Palace.”

Jongin felt cold dread sluicing through him. For a split second, he considered jumping out of his hiding place and asking these men what they meant – but then he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in the Palace where, in his absence, something terrible was happening…

He wished the ministers would keep talking. The night was silent apart from the breathing of his friends around him, and Jongin could hear their voices loud and clear long after they had passed him.

“I have not seen Her Majesty in a month, but some days it crosses my mind…”

“What does?”

“That we might never get to celebrate Her Majesty’s birthday.”

The other man fell silent.

“Is the situation really that dire? I have heard of her ravings, of course, but…”

“Her Majesty says the same thing she has said for years – that somebody is poisoning her. But that is not the worst of it.” The man lowered his voice when he continued, “Some palacemaids have also claimed that Her Majesty had the Crown Prince killed and disposed of his body.”

The other minister said nothing for a minute. The silence hung heavy in the night.

“That is a serious accusation. If it were true…”

“Her Majesty would be dethroned. And that would be the kindest fate. Perhaps that is why Her Majesty is so ill; she has heard of the rumours. She knows it is only a matter of time when the truth will come out.”

* * *

Jongin was in free fall.

He numbly heard his companions get up and mutter something, clambering out of their hiding place, but Jongin was frozen to the spot. His heart was hammering so hard that he wondered if he was going to be sick.

The others continued on the path. Jongin stumbled after them a few more steps before he fell to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. The others didn’t realise what had happened at first. Then…

“Are you all right, Jongin?” Xiaojun asked, being the first to turn around.

“I have to go,” Jongin managed to say.

Xiaojun and Yangyang walked over to him, helping him up.

“Go where?” Yangyang asked.

But even in his deepest despair, Jongin remembered his secret. What would happen if he told them…

He burst into tears.

“I need to go home.”

Xiaojun and Yangyang looked concerned.

“Look, I know what Teacher Choi said was harsh, but you don’t have to go anywhere,” Xiaojun said.

“Yeah. You belong here, Jongin. You belong with us.”

“No, I don’t,” Jongin sobbed. “It’s my mother. The Queen mother…”

The others had turned around as well, and were looking at Jongin with deep concern, now fearing that Jongin had lost his mind.

“Come, let’s get him out of here before we get busted again for disturbance,” Yongqin said and came to give them a third set of hands. Together, they managed to walk Jongin back to the Eastern Quarters.

The guard at the gate, Taeyong, had clearly been sleeping, and he snapped awake when the eight of them arrived.

“I’ll have a word with you later,” Yukhei muttered, pointing at Taeyong.

“What are you doing here?” Taeyong asked the four boys who didn’t reside in the Eastern Quarters.

Kun, Xiaojun and Sicheng looked awkward, but Yongqin said, “We're here to help one of your lot. This one.”

Taeyong noticed Jongin.

“So we’re coming in, whether you like it or not,” said Yukhei.

“All right. But keep quiet,” Taeyong replied, and let the eight boys pass.

Guanheng ran across the yard and into their bedchamber. He came out a minute later, and beckoned them to follow.

They tiptoed across the sleeping compound, and Jongin tried to keep his sobs under control, even though he didn’t have much time – he would have to go back to the Palace, and he would have to go tonight.

As soon as Yukhei had closed the door behind them in the bedchamber, Jongin was bombarded with questions.

“What’s wrong, Jongin? Are you all right?”

“He doesn’t look like it.”

“Where were you? We thought you managed to get away! But then Junmyeon hyung dragged you in too.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

A steady, determined voice cut through all the babble. It was Kun’s voice.

All the others turned towards their hyung.

“He’s a spy. Aren’t you, Jongin?”

A tense, stunned silence descended in the room.

“ _ What? _ ”

The word echoed among the boys. Jongin saw all eyes on Kun, then on him, burning through his skin.

“Come on, hyung! How could Jongin be a spy?” Yukhei guffawed.

“Think about it: he knows how to fight and shoot without being trained. Remember that attack on his second night here? A bit too convenient, don’t you think?”

“If this is about you being mad because he’s better than you at school…” Yangyang began.

“It’s not! This is not funny!” Kun snapped.

“No, hyung is right. We don’t know who he is,” Sicheng said slowly and fixed his eyes on Jongin.

“Maybe you don’t, but we do,” Yukhei said and threw his arm around Jongin’s shoulders – a gesture which Jongin would have appreciated otherwise, but now it only made him feel worse.

“Why else would they have known to look for us tonight?” Kun continued.

“Yeah, because a spy would have nothing better to do than to get a bunch of students expelled!” Yangyang protested.

“You said it yourself, hyung – maybe they saw the smoke,” Guanheng pointed out.

“But Jongin disappeared at the right time!”

“He was with Taemin,” said Yongqin. “I saw them leave. It’s not like he went and snitched.”

Jongin blushed at the mention of Taemin, but perhaps it was a small price to pay. Some of them goggled at him in disbelief, their gossipy sides itching. None of them understood that this didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things.

“Anyway,” Kun went on, “Now he has come up with some cock-and-bull story about the Queen so as to distract us.”

“No,” Jongin said in a trembling voice. “That part is true.” He wasn’t going to waste time listening to Kun slander him.

Him – the Crown Prince of Silla.

“I am the Crown Prince of Silla,” he repeated his thought aloud.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to all my readers! I'm so grateful for all the feedback you've given me so far ❤️

Now, more than ever, Jongin felt all of them staring at him. When he dared to look up, he saw exactly what he had expected to see – incredulity. How could this sobbing mess in their bedchamber be the future leader of this kingdom?

Well, they couldn’t have met many members of the royalty if they thought like that.

With difficulty and a weight in his chest, Jongin rose to his feet.

“I ran away from the Donggung Palace because I wanted to join the Hwarang. Taemin told me about you. It seemed to me like everything I had ever yearned for – freedom. Camaraderie.”

“That’s why you seemed so… cultured,” Kun muttered, and Jongin could see the wheels turning in his mind.

“And that’s why you were so good at archery,” interjected Guanheng.

Jongin shrugged his shoulder self-consciously.

“I’d been wondering about the attack. That night when you came to our dormitory,” Guanheng said. “I’d never heard of something like that happening in the history of the Academy.”

The meaning of all this seemed to sink in slowly – but it wasn’t the reaction Jongin had been hoping. They all frowned at him, standing back, as though afraid.

“I have to go back to the Donggung Palace,” he repeated finally, hoping that the message would sink in this time. “My mother is in danger.”

“How do you know?” Yangyang asked timidly.

“You heard those ministers,” Jongin explained. “But before that… I have witnessed it first-hand. She isn’t in her right mind. That was why I fled. I see now how misjudged that was.” He bowed his head in shame.

“And you… you want to go back?” Yukhei said finally, after the silence reached the breaking point.

“Yes,” Jongin replied, and lifted his head.

The others exchanged bewildered glances.

“But… you can’t,” Guanheng said. “I mean, you heard Teacher Choi! You’ll get expelled if you get caught.”

“What does it matter if he’s the Crown Prince?” Yangyang asked.

“Maybe you should have thought about this before you came to the Academy… Your Highness,” Kun said, adding the title and blushing slightly, clearly not knowing whether to believe Jongin, but not daring to risk it.

“I know,” said Jongin. “I know I should not have left. I mean, I regret nothing… not coming here and meeting you, but…”

Melancholy smiles flitted across the others’ faces, and Jongin had to drop his gaze to regain composure.

“How do I get there? How can I get out of the Academy?”

Again there was silence. The boys glanced at one another, anxious.

“I know I’m asking for much – but I don’t know how to get out of the Academy. When I came here, I remember the forest, nothing more.”

“We will get kicked out if we’re caught wandering at night, Your Highness. We shouldn't even be here, in your dormitory!” Kun replied.

“Yeah, we’re sitting this one out,” Sicheng said and turned to leave, but Yongqin stopped him.

“You say you’re the Crown Prince of Silla. What can you give us in return if we help you out of here?” Yongqin asked.

“Yongqin!” both Kun and Xiaojun gasped in unison.

But Jongin held Yongqin’s gaze. “Anything. I can bring you to the royal court. That is… if all is well in the Palace. If not…” Jongin refused to think about it.

Yongqin mulled over this. “I like those odds.”

“Yongqin, you can’t…” Kun began. “What if this is an impostor? You’ll get yourself kicked out in vain!”

The dancer shrugged.

Yukhei stepped up, puffing his chest. “I’m coming too. I’ve snuck out several times, no big deal.”

“You almost just got all of us expelled, remember?” Guanheng asked.

“Well,” said Yangyang, “if we’re going to get expelled, I’d rather we go together.”

“No, wait, wait!” Kun said. “You’re not thinking clearly. You’re going to throw all this away for…”

“The Crown Prince of Silla,” Xiaojun muttered.

“What about him?”

The door to the bedchamber opened, and everyone in the room jumped. Baekhyun and Chanyeol had returned.

“Wow, it’s crowded in here.”

“Where the hell have you been?” asked Baekhyun, failing to read the room.

“We could ask you two the same thing,” said Guanheng. “Weren’t you supposed to keep watch?”

“No, not now, please,” Jongin interrupted them. Baekhyun and Chanyeol stared at him. “We don’t have time to explain – but we have to get out of the Academy. Tonight.”

“Where are you off to? What’s the rush?” Chanyeol asked.

Jongin sighed in frustration – he didn’t have the time nor desire to explain himself once again.

Fortunately, Yukhei did it for him: “He’s the Crown Prince of Silla. And he’s got some business to take care of.”

Baekhyun’s and Chanyeol’s eyes widened with bewilderment. Whether it was shock or disbelief, it didn’t matter.

“And I – we – haven’t got much time,” said Jongin. “If there’s any way you can help…”

Baekhyun and Chanyeol looked at each other, then straightened up, looking exultant.

“I think we can manage that,” Baekhyun said cleverly.

“Let’s go then,” Yukhei said.

“You’re not really going, are you?” Kun asked, apprehensive.

“What did you think, hyung? That we’re just talking to keep ourselves warm?” Yangyang said, taking out another set of robes from the cupboard.

Yukhei did the same thing, changing his Hwarang robes into something more ubiquitous. Guanheng seemed to hesitate at first, but then he went to his drawer and got changed as well. Jongin followed their lead.

He quickly glimpsed Guanheng strapping something to his body and under his overcoat, but it was too dark in the room for Jongin to see what it was.

As Jongin removed his Hwarang robes, the thought struck him: that after this, he might not return to the Academy – ever again.

And if that was to be the case, Jongin had one thing he had to do before he could leave.

“You know the clearing behind the dancers’ quarters?” he asked the others.

“Yeah, I think so,” replied Yukhei.

“Meet you there in half an hour. I’ve got something I have to do first,” he told them, and raced out of the house, after Yongqin’s and Sicheng’s receding backs.

They whipped around at the sound of Jongin’s footsteps.

“Wait,” Jongin hissed, and reaching them said, “Can you… can you take me to the Dancers’ Quarters? I… I need to see Taemin before we go.”

Sicheng looked apprehensive, but Yongqin said, “Sure. Come.”

The trek through the nightly Academy took a long time because they had to be alert for any noise and any students or teachers patrolling the courtyards, but finally they arrived at the familiar compound.

“Wait here,” Yongqin whispered to Jongin. He was left to wait in the shadows just around the corner.

Jongin could only hope that they’d be fast and get Taemin out alone. He noticed that he was trembling – he wanted all this to be over, soon – but he didn’t feel quite ready for such abrupt goodbyes. He wanted more time; he needed more time. The Academy had been his home for only a matter of months, but it felt like a lifetime – and the home where he was the Crown Prince burdened with his duties and handsome titles felt like a completely different one. He cared so much for the boys he had lived with here, and could not believe that the feeling was mutual – that they had cared even before knowing who Jongin was. He didn’t feel deserving.

And just then he saw a lone figure slinking through the night, moonlight catching him briefly.

Jongin would have recognised him anywhere. He stepped out of his hiding place, letting himself be seen.

“Taemin…”

The boy came to him, shaking his head.

“I have to tell you…”

“No. Yongqin already did.”

Jongin paused, hesitant – what did Taemin think? He had stopped a foot from Jongin, keeping a distance.

“You have to go, _wangseja_ ,” Taemin said quietly. “So let’s not waste any time talking.”

He reached out his hand, and cautiously brushed Jongin’s cheek. Jongin leaned into the touch, letting Taemin know that this was all right – that it was still all right to touch him.

“I lied to you,” Jongin mumbled. “You knew. You knew that I was different. That I wasn’t what I claimed to be.”

Taemin shook his head and said, smiling, “A Crown Prince would have his reasons, wouldn’t he?”

“I wish we had more time,” Jongin said, his voice starting to tremble.

“We will, if I come with you,” Taemin replied.

“No. You mustn’t.”

“Is that an order?” Taemin asked playfully. “A royal order?”

“It’s not funny.”

But Taemin silenced his protest by leaning closer and kissing Jongin. And for that brief moment, Jongin was free from all care and human pain. He didn’t want it to end – he kept going back for more, and Taemin gave it to him gladly.

When they finally parted, Jongin said, “If I live… I will come back to you. And if I die, I will go on thinking of you in another life.”

A smile tugged at Taemin’s lips.

“You stole that from a poem, Jongin _._ ”

But then Taemin’s face turned grave. “Does that mean that there is a chance that you… you might not come back?”

Jongin felt a pang of pain. “Yes. I don’t think I can return to the Academy if I get caught in the Palace. If my mother sees me… she will put me under surveillance. I could possibly sneak out to the Peach Garden, if I drugged my attendants and guards, but…”

Taemin snorted weakly.

“...That is the best I could do until things change… And write you letters, of course…”

“But what if… what if something more serious were to happen to you?” Taemin continued.

Jongin winched. “Well… if something has happened to my mother.. if somebody really is poisoning her, as she claims… then I would be next in line, wouldn’t I?”

He saw the shiver of terror course through Taemin.

“Please don’t think me impertinent, but… would there not be a way...?” Taemin’s voice trailed off, and he looked up at Jongin, inquisitive and vulnerable.

Jongin shook his head. “You’re better off not coming to the Palace. Trust me.” He added, “That world pays you with nothing but misery and worry and mistrust – if you’re fortunate. Anyone who disliked me would use you against me. You deserve better, Taemin-ah.”

Taemin let out a sigh. “And you don’t?”

Jongin could say nothing to this.

Finally the boy regained his composure, seeming to make up his mind, and raised his head to look Jongin in the eye.

“If you must leave… Then I, too, will go on thinking of you in another life.”

They kissed again.

When they parted, Jongin saw that Yongqin and Sicheng had come out into the yard.

“Shall we?” Yongqin whispered, to which Jongin nodded.

“He isn’t coming,” Yongqin added, pointing at Sicheng over his shoulder. Sicheng looked shamefaced.

“It’s all right,” Jongin reassured him. “If we’re ever going to get to the Palace unseen, we have to work by stealth, not by force.”

Then, with one final glance at Taemin, Jongin and Yongqin turned to leave. They snuck out of the dancers’ quarters, and Jongin was glad that it was dark, because tears were streaming down his face.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

“I told them to meet me in the clearing behind the dancers' quarters,” Jongin told Yongqin when he had got his voice under control.

“Right. We’ll go there then.”

Jongin was glad to just follow the dancer, who obviously knew the path by heart. Finally, Jongin saw the tree under which he and Taemin had lain what felt like months ago. The same moon was still in the sky, but closer to the horizon, where there was a flicker of morning twilight.

They would have to move, fast.

“About time,” said a familiar voice from behind them.

Yukhei, Yangyang and Guanheng emerged from amongst the thicket, with Kun and Xiaojun hurrying along behind them.

As much as Jongin’s heart swelled from the loyalty they were showing him, it seemed like a ludicrous idea that all seven of them would be able to leave unseen.

“It might be better if… if I only go with some of you,” Jongin said. “The more we are, the more likely we’ll be seen…”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say...” Kun said irritably.

“Then don’t come,” Yangyang replied promptly.

“I’m not letting you go on your own!”

“If somebody should be left out, it’s me,” Yongqin said matter-of-factly. “You guys – apart from Xiaojun and Kun, who are simply too stubborn and kind-hearted and would come anyway – are actually trained in combat. I know very little about that. But I will be damned if I pass on a chance to see the Palace!”

“Do you think we can expect any… well… fighting?” Xiaojun asked timidly.

“If it’s up to me, you won’t,” Jongin replied. “I won’t let that happen.”

But he couldn’t shake the fear that things in the Palace might not be the way he had left them.

There was a pause between all of them. Yongqin’s words seemed to bring home to everyone that they were quite ignorant of where they were headed. Jongin knew the Palace, of course, it was his home – but on their way there, they would be accompanying the Crown Prince of Silla. If anybody knew where Jongin was and wanted to hurt him, now was their chance. To do what they had failed to do that one night here at the Academy.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Yukhei said, “It’s getting light already.”

The night was clear and chilly; it was the last hour before sunrise. Their breaths were fog as he set out towards the hidden exit.

At first they were mindful of their surroundings and of every step they took, every little noise they made, but when the grounds appeared deserted, they risked a slightly faster pace.

At long last, the wall came into their view. They snapped behind a corner at the sound of footfall and murmured voices – it was the guards, making chit chat to keep awake.

“Dammit. They’ve added reinforcements,” Yukhei muttered. “Teacher Choi is really starting to get paranoid.”

“Is it paranoia if he is right?” Kun muttered back.

And then they both fell silent, because they all heard a familiar sound – an arrow whizzing through the air, the dull thud as it hit its mark.

“What was it?” Xiaojun whispered, scared.

“Somebody’s underpants,” said Guanheng slowly and dumbfounded, looking up.

Jongin looked up too. He saw the arrow stuck on the ash tree on the side of the path. Something had been tied to the arrow: a pair of underpants.

The guards had obviously seen the sight too.

“What on earth is that?”

Then they realised, and cackled at the sight – but not for long, because another arrow whizzed through the air – and this one had been set on fire.

Time seemed to slow down as they watched the arrow fly across the courtyard and hit the underpants hanging from the first arrow.

Jongin covered his face as the underpants burst into flames. They must have been doused in something flammable, because the fire was bigger than one could have anticipated.

The guards’ reaction was immediate – they came running and clamouring down from the gate.

“Put it out!”

“No, you put it out!”

“There’s no water here!”

“Then go get some, idiot!”

Jongin saw their chance.

“Now!” he hissed to his friends, and they all got up and hared across the court to their secret exit.

“Quick, unlock it!” Kun urged as Yukhei fumbled with the door. 

Finally it came undone, and Yukhei dived in, followed by Yangyang, Yongqin, Guanheng, Xiaojun – and finally Jongin.

“After you, Your Highness,” Kun said, resisting the urge to give Jongin a shove.

Jongin dived in too, running straight into Xiaojun’s back.

“Quickly now!”

“Hey!” somebody shouted, and Jongin knew that the voice belonged to either of the guards – they had been seen.

Jongin pushed against Xiaojun’s back and came out the other side. He turned and grabbed Kun’s hand, pulling him out. Yukhei slammed the door shut and jammed it.

“RUN!”

Jongin followed the others as they bolted towards the woods.

They stumbled on amongst trees, slipping on treetrunks and holes in the ground, foliage rattling under their heavy, hurried footsteps. The land sloped down, and they gathered speed, until they finally came crashing into a clearing, some of them falling flat on their backs.

“Now you’ve done it,” Kun panted, his eyes dilated with alarm. “Now you’ve really done it!”

“I guess that was Chanyeol and Baekhyun hyung’s idea of a diversion,” muttered Guanheng. “Flaming underpants.”

“Well, at least it worked, didn’t it?” panted Yangyang.

They all stared behind them wistfully. There was no going back to the Academy now; the only way onward was forward.

Yukhei was the first to speak: “Where to now? Are we just going to march off to the Palace?”

Jongin straightened up, feeling like an old man with all the worries of the world on his shoulders.

“No. I need to think. Besides, it’ll be dawn soon. We need to wait for the cover of darkness.”

“We’re not going to wait it out here, are we?” Guanheng asked, looking around the dark forest with concern.

“No,” said Jongin. “I know a place.”

* * *

The dawn was breaking in the horizon by the time they reached the outskirts of town. It was the stillest moment of the night, perhaps a mere hour before the cuckoo would call and the people would arise.

The Peach Garden was the only thing disrupting the nightly peace, like a lantern with fireflies buzzing around it. Its windows were still glowing with light. At this time of the night, all traffic was away from it – Jongin and his companions were the only ones making their way towards it.

“Give us a hand, will you?” groaned a drunken man to Yangyang, attempting to stay on his feet.

Yangyang took a step towards the man, only to be intercepted by Kun.

Just then the bleary-eyed man retched, and was sick all over his feet.

Kun gave Yangyang a meaningful look.

“So where exactly are we headed?” asked Kun.

“Don’t you know?”

It was then that they turned the corner, and Jongin pointed at the building.

Music was echoing inside, accompanied by snippets of conversations and gales of laughter.

“The Peach Garden.”

He turned to his company. The others looked relieved at the familiar sight.

“No drinking for any of you, though. I’m keeping an eye on you,” Kun said firmly. “We are in the presence of His Highness.”

“Well don’t go around shouting it like that!” Guanheng hissed.

Kun scowled.

Jongin led the way inside.

There was an explosion of light, noise and smells of drink, smoke and perfume. Jongin’s memories of all the nights he had spent here came flooding back to him. He manoeuvred through the crowd, the others in his wake.

“We need to find the proprietress and get ourselves a room,” said Jongin over the cacophony. “We can’t just loiter here in plain sight.”

“I can help you with that,” said Yukhei, who stepped forth confidently and waded through the crowd. “Follow me.”

They passed the large wooden stage in the centre of the tavern and headed for the door behind it.

Yukhei knocked on it. They waited in taut silence.

The door was parted. A young woman stood there.

“Hi, it’s me,” Yukhei began, “Can we…”

He was cut short when the girl slapped him.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve waited for you for two months!”

Caressing his cheek, Yukhei muttered, “I’m sorry, all right? But we need your help.”

The girl stuck her head out and saw the seven guys standing behind Yukhei. Even though she clearly had a question or two, ignorance was the best policy here at the Peach Garden.

Resigned, she stepped aside. “Come in.”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” said Yukhei to the girl and tried to peck her on the cheek, but she shoved him away.

“Whatever you’re up to, don’t get caught. There’ve been some strange people about,” she said.

“What do you mean by strange?” Jongin asked the girl, who stared at Jongin for a moment before answering.

“I think they might have been working for the Palace. Royal guards, like. They’ve been asking questions, roughing people up. I don’t like them.”

With that, the girl took her leave, clearly thinking it best not to get involved.

“Oh, could you send us some food?” Yukhei called after her, only to be met with, “I’m not your bloody maid, Yukhei!

The tall boy flushed with embarrassment. He slipped into the room, gesturing to the others to follow. The dark of the room took them by surprise after the glow of the rest of the tavern. The only light came from the candle stubs on the table. A tense, expectant silence reigned inside.

Jongin looked around the space, startled – this was where he had first spoken with Taemin, all those months ago. He felt a pang of longing for the boy, wishing dearly that he had Taemin by his side now.

The other boys were busy bickering.

“Yangyang, go get some food!”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the youngest.”

“No way I’m going alone!”

“Kun hyung will go with you.”

Kun looked like he was about to argue, but instead he gave a resigned sigh.

“Here, this should buy us a meal,” Jongin said and gave them a couple of coins.

The two boys left, while the rest of them waited in brooding silence. A sliver of light was creeping in from the windows.

“Do you think they’ve noticed that we’re gone? At the Academy, I mean,” Xiaojun asked finally.

The young men in the room looked at each other. Jongin found it hard to meet anyone’s eyes. The reality of their situation was starting to dawn on them – that they would not be welcome to the Academy anymore. They had broken the rules and they deserved the expulsion.

What if Jongin had led them out needlessly? He couldn’t help thinking about the possibility that there was nothing wrong in the Palace, nothing beyond his mother going mad.

The door to the room opened and they all started – but it was only Kun and Yangyang, carrying trays of food.

The smell of broth filled the room, lifting their spirits and easing their sorrows. All seven of them sat down at the table and tucked in, their insides aching with hunger.

Yangyang tried to sneak himself a cup of  _ soju _ , but Kun shot a forbidding look at him. When Kun wasn’t looking, Jongin poured Yangyang some. They had all deserved it.

The day had dawned by the time they finished their meal. A strange kind of stupor had fallen upon them, and nobody spoke.

“I have done some thinking,” said Jongin finally. “I know a way into the Palace. I’ve used it many times, but I don’t think it will work this time – we’re too many. The Palace is not like the Academy – there are five times more guards, and they’re trained. The punishment for trying to enter the Palace without permission is prison – that is, if they haven’t killed you yet. I don’t want to lead you into such peril.”

His companions exchanged fearful glances.

Jongin had dreaded this moment. “The thing is… my mother, the Queen, thinks that there is a conspiracy against her. That they’re trying to oust her from power by poisoning her.”

“Why would anyone do that?” asked Xiaojun, distressed.

“If they would do that to the Queen,” began Kun, “Does that not mean that they would do something to Your Highness as well?”

“Yes,” Jongin replied weakly. “That is very likely.”

A shiver coursed through the room.

“So what you’re saying,” said Yukhei, “Is that you need people to protect you?”

“Yes. I know now what I’m going to do: I’m going to find my mother and take her out of the Palace,” said Jongin. “That is the only way I can protect her and myself.”

Now that Jongin said it aloud, it seemed like the most obvious choice, like he had always known it would come to this. A clear path was laid out in front of him.

The other boys stared at him, nodding slowly at his words.

Yukhei turned to the others. “Well then, that seems pretty straightforward.”

Then, all of a sudden, Yongqin got up.

“Wait here.”

He left the room before anyone could stop him.

“And… what do you propose we do once we’re there?” Kun asked cautiously. “How can we help you, Your Highness?”

“Once we’re in?” said Jongin. “You can’t, really.”

“And where will you take Her Majesty?” asked Kun.

“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Jongin.

“As a matter of fact, my family lives not far from the Palace,” Kun continued. “We could hide Her Majesty there.”

Jongin nodded in contemplation.

“But where will you go after this, Jongin?” Xiaojun asked.

Jongin had no answer to this. And as they all looked at each other, Jongin knew that they were all thinking about the same thing: none of them knew where they could go after this.

They jumped again when the door opened. Yongqin had returned – with the dancer girl who Yukhei had flirted with. She cast an apprehensive eye over the men in the room.

“Your friend here has kindly agreed to assist us,” said Yongqin.

“With what?” Yukhei asked.

Yongqin explained: “We will dress up as female dancers.”

Yukhei let out a guffaw. “Speak for yourself! No way anyone’s going to buy me as a woman!”

“Which is why you will be wearing this.” Yongqin produced a palace guard’s uniform from behind his back.

Yukhei swallowed loudly.

“And me?” asked Kun.

“We’ll find you a scholar-official’s uniform,” said Yongqin. “Good thing that men have a habit of shedding their clothes at the Peach Garden.”

“So what you’re saying,” began Guanheng, “Is that we will enter the Palace separately, disguised as dancers and scholars?”

Jongin could see a hundred ways in which this plan could fail, but he had no better idea than Yongqin’s.

“There is a small gate not far from the secret entrance I’ve used,” he said. “We can convene a short walk away from the gate. Once you get inside, the scholar-officials and guards are allowed to move freely in the Palace – as long as you keep to the outer courts and don’t try to venture into the inner courts, where I lived with my mother.”

Jongin saw the mixed reactions on his companions’ faces, but none of them expressed a desire to back down at this point.

“We don’t have much time to prepare, but I know we’re all tired and we have to wait till sundown anyway. I suggest we try to get some sleep first. Let us worry about the details once we’ve rested a bit,” Jongin concluded.  


And so they all settled down for sleep, not having had any rest for almost two days, to wait out the daylight. Most of them fell asleep eventually, but Jongin found it impossible. He was only beginning to realise what he was about to do.

He was about to go home. His home, from which he had fled. And to his mother, whom he had abandoned.


End file.
